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CAPTAIN D. L,. PAYNE. 



These are his meeds : Homes fill the plains 
Where he, a martyr, walked in chains, 

And every place where once he stood 
Proclaims the glories of his good ! 



Songs from tbe Souths 
west Country ** *t *e 

18$ jfreeman j£, niMller, a. HD, 

Author of " Oklahoma, and Other Poems," etc. ; 
Professor of the English Language and Literature in 
the Oklahoma Agricultural and Mechanical College 



Wew 22orh 

Ube Knickerbocker (press 

t898 




VED 



/, 






Copyright, 1898 

BY 

FREEMAN E. MILLER 
All Rights Reserved 



x-Ufff 



To 

His Excellency 

Hon. CASSIUS M. BARNES 

Governor of Oklahoma Territory 

Whose Life has been Given to the Development 

of the Southwest Country and to whose Heart that 

Favored Land is as Dear as an Only Child 

This Volume is Respectfully 

Inscribed 



I never doubt the songs we sing 
Through all the ages grow in grace, 

Till in their angel anthems ring 

The loves and longings of the race ; 

They treasure up for deafened ears 

The murmurs of the cycled years, 

Till at the last in music roll 

Their thunders through the mystic soul ! 



The most of the poems in this volume are printed here for 
the first time ; several, however, have appeared in the Cen- 
tury Magazine, the Youth 's Companion, Peterson's Magazine, 
the Bachelor of Arts, the Overland Monthly, and other 
copyrighted publications ; and to their editors thanks are 
hereby given for permission to reprint. 



CONTENTS. 



Captain Payne and His Home in Oklahoma, 



Frontispiece. 



The Southwest Country 



SONGS FROM THE SOUTHWEST COUNTRY. 

The Opening of Oklahoma : 

At Morning, — The Desert Land 
At Noon, — The Race for Homes 
At Night, — The Desert Conquered 

The Ballad of the Alamo 

The Battle of the Washita . 

The Plaint of the Tenderfoot 

Slaughtering the Ponies 

David L. Payne .... 

Kansas 

The Stampede .... 

A Song for the Settler . 

Lines on Captain Payne's Cabin 

Mountain Song .... 

" When the Golden-Rod is Yellow 

On the Shanky-Tank 

Oklahoma 

The Mississippi .... 

The Plains 

By the Overland Trail . 

" Where Custer Fell " 



7 
9 
19 
27 
32 
36 
39 
42 
45 
47 
48 
49 
50 
52 
52 
53 
54 
54 



Contents. 



The Cowboy Poet 
The Sunflower . 



SONNETS. 



Books .... 

The Teacher 

On the Great Pyramid 

In a Public Library . 

At Rossetti's Grave . 

New England . 

Immutable . 

The Mightiest . 

Lilith 

Absent 

Preoccupied 

A Dream 

To 

To 

The One Who Understands 

Sympathy . 

Unforgetting . 

The Door of Life 

Inaction 

To the Rescue . 

MISCELLANEOUS. 

At Eastertide . 

The Old Range Road 

The Night . 

" O My Heart, Be Brave Again 

Creeds 

The Conqueror . 

Immortal . 

Mind .... 

Dreamer and Singer 

The Roses . 



PAGE 

55 
55 



59 

59 
6o 
6i 
6i 
62 
63 
63 
64 
65 
65 
66 
67 
67 
68 
69 

69 
70 
7i 
72 



75 
79 
85 
88 
90 
93 
95 
96 
98 
100 



Contents. 






ix 


PAGE 

Greed .......... 102 


Playing Horse . 








104 


A Glad Playfellow . 








106 


The On-March . 








108 


The Dreamer 








110 


The Stars .... 








112 


The Little Boy's Hair 








"3 


The Little Dead Baby 








"5 


Renunciation 








117 


" There, My Heart, Be Still 


\ Minute 


" 




118 


A Ramble .... 








120 


Unforgetting . 








121 


The Minor Chord 








123 


In the Night 








124 


Save the Boys . 








127 


Take It Easy 








128 


My Love .... 








129 


A Health .... 








130 


Loneliness .... 








131 


In Memory of Eugene Field 








133 


A Suppliant 








134 


Motherhood 








135 


The Commonplaces . 








136 


Joy Abides .... 








137 


The Hours 








138 


Undismayed 








139 


" Alas ! My Own Harp ! " . 








140 


Faith 








141 


Beneath the Pines 








141 


In Lotus Land . 








142 


An Epitaph 








143 


Life's Trinity . 








143 


Forsaken .... 








144 


Bud and Bloom . 








144 


The Musician 








145 


Love and Death 








145 



Contents. 



Death 

The Dead Singer 

The Angelus 

Birth's Miracle 

Two Prayers 

Ambition 

Love .... 

The Poet . 

The Minstrel's Power 

Life .... 

Tradition . 

The Creation of Art 

God's Children . 

In a Volume of Poems 

Hero and Singer 

To-Day and To-Morrow 

The Dead Seer . 

One Saying 

To a Singer I Never Saw 

Limited 

Truth's Mightiness . 

Self-Made . 

The Dead Waif 

A Prayer . 

Duty .... 

IN DIALECT. 
The Faith Cure .... 
Ole Jim Hankins .... 
The Banks of Turkey Run 

Moralizin's 

"'Fore Willyum Writ a Book " 
" When the Roas'in'-Ears is Plenty 
" Put'er Thayre fer Ninety Days !" 
At Fweddie's 



L'Envoi 



THE SOUTHWEST COUNTRY. 

O TUPENDOUS reach of vale and mountain-side, 

^ Of wooded continents and seas of plain, 
Of grassy oceans glad with isles of grain, 

Where trains of traffic, ships of commerce, ride ; 

Far distances that rouse prodigious pride 

And clamor hope to hosts that strive in vain, — 
Productive empires boundless, whose rich gain 

Shall crown with plenteousness the nations wide ! 

Thou hast achieved already ! Thy frontiers 
Are mighty with the holy labors wrought 
By nameless heroes of exalted quest ; 
And in thy bosom sleep the pioneers 

Who thrilled thy silences with sudden thought 
And woke the vastness of the great southwest ! 



Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country 



THE OPENING OF OKLAHOMA. 

APRIL 22, [889. 

At Morning, — The Desert Land. 

T N silence, lone and tenantless but fair, 

The desert stands, as on the morn it stood 
When God first breathed upon the brooding earth, 
And all the throbbing life of wood and field, 
Of rounded hills and valleys wide, appeared 
In shades and shapes of beauty ; when fond hands 
With sweet adornment glorified the world, 
Sowed blossoms o'er the gaping mountain-sides, 
And wreathed the vales with gladness, while the 

streams 
Flowed with bright waters that in music sang 
Over the gentle ripples. Perfect world ! 
New from its Maker's hands, it mutely stood, 
Expectant, ready, for its master, Man ; 
So stands the desert now, unvexed, unmarred, 
By man's relentless labor, sweet and fair 
1 



2 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

As when God looked upon the new-born earth, 
Beheld its perfect comeliness, and said, 
" Lo, all is good ! " 

The grasses waving bend 
Before the dewy breezes ; willows nod 
Beside the scanty streams, and scattered woods 
Breathe sighs of longing welcome ; the wild birds, 
Croaking wild cries instinct with fear's alarm, 
Shriek out exultant curses ; the fierce beasts, 
Bloody from battle with their fellows, go 
With haste unwonted to their savage lairs ; 
But Nature rules, an empress on whose realm 
No foreign footstep falls in rebeldom. 
No lazy smoke from chimneys made with hands 
Floats in the air ; no human voices vex 
The hills and valleys ; no rude labors mar 
The swarded prairies' velvet lawns of peace ; 
No laughter light, no anguished chorus, floats 
From aught save Nature and her savage slaves, 
While through the moanings of their restless dreams 
There comes no warning of impending change, 
Of empire's mighty march ; and man with feet 
Shod with the steel of progress fleet and swift, 
Beneath whose tread the wilderness shall change, 
And at the echoes of whose coming, toil 
Shall wake the ages from their solemn sleep, 
Order to chaos yield her kingdoms large, 
That order may a grander kingdom gain — 
And man shall plant his banners flaunting far 
With civilization and her thousand arts 
That lead and lift the nations to the sky. 



Zbe ©pcning of ©Maboma. 

At Noon, — The Race for Homes. 

Behold ! As from the shades of night 

An army gathers full of might, 

And strong with constant courage stands 

'Tween civilized and savage lands, 

Where, vast in power, the legion waits 

The turning of the desert gates, 

That men of might may enter in 

And labor all her glories win ! 

Lo, where these thousands make assail, 

The barren ages all shall fail, 

And swift advancement far be hurled 

O'er sleeping empires and the world ! 

The morning hours haste hurried by ; 
The noon, — the noon is drawing nigh ! 
The anxious host with restless eyes 
Marks well each rapid hour that flies, 
While hope, exulting, wildly rolls 
The highest, such as filled the souls 
Of Jason and his comrades bold 
Who sought the famous fleece of gold, 
And bound in one adventurous band 
Brought treasures from a foreign land. 
Impatient steeds with fretting feet 
Upon the trampled grasses beat ; 
The dins of harsh, discordant cries 
Above the thrilling thousands rise ; 
Shrilly the scattered children call, 
And soft the words of women fall, 



Songs from tbe Southwest Country. 

While men with voices hushed and weak 
Their low commands impatient speak ; 
Till suddenly a mighty cry, 
A shout of warning, smites the sky : 

"Attention! Ho, 

Attention here ! 
Attention ! Lo, 

The noon is near ! " 
O'er hill and brake 

Resounds the warning cry ; 

The moment great is nigh ; 
The hosts awake ; 
Awake, to strive with mad delight, 
Awake, to win the friendly fight ! 
And from the camps anear and far, 
Where nervous haste and hurry are, 
Vast legions gather on the plain, 
Till chaos and confusion reign ; 
The neighing steed with quickened pace 
Impatient seeks the vantage-place ; 
The slower ox with lightened load 
Stands waiting in the crowded road, 
And wagon, buggy, carriage, cart, 
Vehicles formed with rudest art, 
All forward, forward, forward dart, 
Swift-forming on the level ground 
Where most advantage may be found. 

" Line up ! Ho, there ! 
Line up ! Line up ! " 



Gbe Opening of ©Rlaboma. 

The hurried order smites the air ; 
Above the silent prairies fair 

Unseen progression holds her cup, 
Filled to the brim with magic seeds 
That harvests hold for human needs. 
Excitement grows on beasts and men ; 
The saddle-girths are tightened o'er, 
The stirrups lengthened out once more, 
And silence softly falls again ; 
Each bit and buckle, strap and band, 
Is tested o'er with careful hand, 
Till man and beast, in chosen place, 
Stand ready for the coming race. 

The circling sun 
His morning race has fully run ; 

A waving hand 
Signals above the brief command 
That sight and sense will understand, — 
And open swings the desert land ! 
A shot ! A hundred, thousand more 
The grassy meadows echo o'er ; 
A shout ! From countless throats a shout 
On rolling wings leaps madly out ! 
A yell, a raging roar, that flies 

On bounding winds o'er hill and glen, 
And 'round the land electrifies 

A thousand living miles of men ! 

A mammoth stir, 
A sudden dash, 



Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Swift whip and spur 
Together clash, 
And wheels on wheels that totter, crash ! 

They 're off ! They 're off ! 
Away ! Away ! 
In mad array ! 
No stop nor stay ! 
The hurried charge they ride to-day 

Would shame and scoff 
The Tartar, Turk, and Romanoff ! 

The race is on ; 

The host is gone ; 

All forward thrust 

Through clouds of dust ; 
The thronging legions madly ride 

O'er hill and dale, 
With hurried pace unsatisfied, 

In fierce assail 

Where none may fail ; 
And one by one, exhausted sheer, 
The racing thousands disappear ; 
Till only shadows dimly blent 
Tell where the mounted armies went, 
Like shifting shadows, faint and dim, 
Or ghostly spectres, gaunt and grim, 
Beyond the far horizon's rim ! 

Behold ! Adown the valleys bright 
The last lone straggler fades from sight, 
And only hasty hoof-beats say, 
In echoes from the far-off hills, 



Gbe ©pening of ©fclaboma. 7 

What thousands rode the race to-day 

With hopeful hearts and fearless wills ; 
What hosts with hands that build and bless 
Found homes amid the wilderness ! 

At Night, — The Desert Conquered. 

Ten thousand tents above the wilderness, 
Conquered so quickly from the lonely realms 
And brought beneath man's sceptre of control, 
To tremble at his feet and slowly change 
Before the forming touches of his hand, 
Mark cities newly born, that swift shall grow 
The wonders of an age all wonderful. 
Ten thousand camp-fires in the valleys broad, 
Bright torches of the newer life, whose fires 
Advancement's magic hands have widely built, 
Show where new homes are founded, and the strife 
Which man and nature shall forever wage 
Hath here beginning ; transformation throws 
Her kindly sceptre o'er the lonely lands. 
The virgin grasses thrill beneath the tread 
Of hurried feet ; the wild birds hiding flee, 
And savage beasts to savage haunts retire. 
Secluded springs, untouched by human lips, 
Unvexed by human shadows, since the morn 
When first they flowed from earth's abundant breast, 
Mirror unwonted faces, fondly press 
Soft touches to the unfamiliar lips. 
In night's dear arms of rest the wearied hosts 
Fall on the conquered fields like warriors old 



8 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

And dream of homes wrought from the wilderness ; 
Of porches wide with clustered blossoms wreathed, 
Of lasting shades and tender breezes cool, 
Love's gentle looks, and songs of happy birds, 
Plenty and progress in a land of might 
Rich in the boundless wealth that blesses man 
And leads his longings forward to the tall 
Results of time and toil's unfailing growth. 
Empires arise of pride and promise full, 
With conquest high, like prince and peasant won 
On fields historic where the clash of arms, 
The battle's thunder, and the striving host, 
Shook earth's foundations through the lowest depths 
And filled the farthest ages with their might. 
Dreams fill with wondrous fancies far-off days, 
The hills and valleys that with sudden homes 
Man's tireless hands have clothed ; but prophecy 
Inspires the tender dreams, and time shall fill 
Out to the utmost all that fancy forms, 
All that she brings from shadows and beholds, 
Brighter and greater than the dreams she dreamed. 
The world shall search the years' vast volumes o'er 
With eagerness and, wearied, rest in vain, 
To find another scene for precedent. 



THE BALLAD OF THE ALAMO. 

/^\ IT'S East and West and North and South, 

^> —it 's the Old World and the New ; — 

// 's every place that the human race has warred and 

tvandered through ; 
But not the years that the ancients lived, nor the years 

that the moderns know, 
Such deeds have wrought as the men who fought at 

the Church of the Alamo ! 



" What see you, frightened sentinel, that thus you 
bend your eyes ? 

Do herds of cattle or packs of wolves o'erwhelm 
you with surprise ? " 

" 'T is neither wolves nor cattle that march and 
march again ; 

' 'T is Santa Anna's army, — 't is twice three thou- 
sand men ! " 



" Nay, nay, my faithful guardsman ! — God's curses 

on the foe ! — 
You must be mad or drunken, — your eyes deceive 

you so ! 



io Songs from tbe Soutbwcst Country. 

For Santa Anna 's far away with all his blare and 
boast, 

Afraid to battle freedom's few with his unnum- 
bered host ! " 

" 'T is he, — the Greaser ! he, I know ! There — 

yonder — in the west ! 
Mine eyes do not deceive me, — no ! His lances are 

at rest ; 
The long lines sweep and forward creep, beneath 

the gleaming sun ! 
O God of Freedom, help us now ! They 're fifty 

to our one ! " 

" Ho, troopers, to your saddles now ! You — you .' 

Ride — ride — your best ! 
To where yon guardsman says he sees the 

Greasers in the west ; 
Right bold ye are ! Ride fast and far ! And, 

prove it ill or well, 
Bring back report ! We '11 make work short with 

these wild imps of hell ! " 

Forth, forth they ride ; up yon hillside, with hoofs 

that spurn the ground, 
The horses gallop, gallop on, with faint and fainter 

sound ; 
And o'er the summit, passing down, the horsemen 

slowly sink, 
With courage whirled into that world which waits 

beyond the brink. 



Zbc JBallaD of tbe Hlamo. u 

" A musket-shot ? A pistol-shot ? Ride, ride, ride, 

men, for life ! 
A hundred lancers after them ! God ! for an equal 

strife ! 
Fling wide the gates ! There safety waits for all who 

love the Star ; 
And Death's red wounds to all that dare with it to 

offer war ! 

" And yonder comes the armied host ! Ah, guard, 

your eyes were true ! 
And yonder comes the horse and foot that shall 

make short of you ! 
Short shift of you, short shift of us, — they 're fifty 

to our one ! 
The battle would be over here before the fight 

begun ! 

" The Church ! The Church ! Its courts are wide, 

its walls are firm and strong ! " 
O'er Brazos' stream, with herd and team, the heroes 

move along ; 
They are not first, they are not last, of those who 

from the foe 
Found refuge sure and safe, secure, within the 

Alamo ! 

Now pause, ye foes ! Your leader well the strength 

and power has known 
Of hearts and souls aflame for right and for 

their country's own ! 



i2 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Beyond your arms, despising harms, triumphant 

over ills, 
They '11 meet attack and hurl you back, while every 

bullet kills ! 

" A messenger ! A Flag of Truce ! What does the 

Wolf presume ? 
Thinks he that we '11 surrender now ? Too well we 

know that doom ! 
But ride you forth and meet him there, and bring 

his word to me : 
A cannon-shot from hell red-hot my sole reply 

shall be ! 

" The Greaser Dog ! ' Surrender at discretion ; 

with a word, 
If you persist in holding out, your hearts shall have 

the sword ! ' 
Ho, gunner, pull the lanyard now ! A throat of 

flame shall show 
How such commands from despot lips receive the 

answer ' No ! ' 

" Now look you, comrade soldiers ! On San 

Fernando's towers 
A blood-red rag supplants the Flag ! No quarter 

shall be ours ! 
But his the blood whose coward flood shall run the 

valleys through ! 
Now ' God and Texas ' be our cry for God and 

Texas, too ! " 



Zbc ;JBallaD of tbe alamo. 13 

The foe draws nigh ; and thundering high wild 

roars the cannonade ; 
And yonder o'er the rolling stream a hasty bridge 

is made ; 
But the rifles of the Texans are aimed at heart and 

head, 
And like the leaves in autumn-time the Mexicans 

are dead! 

Loud ring the cries of conflict ! Loud roll and roar 

the guns, 
And nearer, nearer, creep the lines to Freedom's 

watching sons ; 
Each single night with deadly might the batteries 

leap and glow, 
While every road is garrisoned with thousands of 

the foe. 

"Thrice welcome, men from Gonzales ! Thrice wel- 
come, one and all ! 

You 've hurried far and here you are, and here we '11 
fight and fall ; 

You '11 find some neat diversion sweet before you 
leave, my braves, 

But arms all true of thirty-two are worth a thousand 
slaves ! " 

Now yonder on the eastern road the skirmished 

horsemen fight ; 
Now yonder by the river-side the jackals flame at 

night ; 



14 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

But closer draw the batteries, — the Wolf will have 

his own ! 
Send, send for help, brave Travis ! You are too 

weak alone ! 

" Now saddle up your swiftest horse, and draw the 

cinches tight, — 
It is a wild and lonely ride that you must make 

to-night ! 
Away to Houston at the front, and tell him that we 

call 
For men to help and men to hope and men to save 

us all ! 

" And should relief not come to us, — we never shall 

retreat ! 
Our flag shall float, — we will not yield, — to die for 

home is sweet ! 
Like soldiers who can ne'er forget love to their land 

is due, — 
We all shall live with honor still, and die with honor 

too ! 

" And hasten, Bonham, hasten, on steeds that gallop 

mad ! 
Away, away ! No stop nor stay ! Away to Goliad ! 
For Fannin with his strong right arm and his three 

hundred men 
Shall overthrow the Greaser foe and scourge him 

home again ! " 



Gbe JBallao of tbe alamo. 15 

Then Travis called his men to him : " The end is 

near," said he ; 
" But yet there 's room to slip the doom, for all who 

care to flee ! 
As for myself, here shall I stay, whatever fate may 

chance : 
Let him who wills to share my ills across this line 

advance ! " 

Then down he stooped and drew his sword, and on 

the trampled sod 
He traced a line of straight design : " For Texas 

and our God," 
In grim prayer rose from lips of those, and up he 

glanced, to find 
Eight score and more had stepped it o 'er, and none 

were left behind ! 

There are men and women that perish ; they die on the 

sea and the shore, 
For the storm and the plague and the bullet are awake 

and at work evermore ; 
But the angels above who are watching sing gladly 

with glorified breath 
When the men who may choose base living refuse and 

go bravely down to the death ! 



Be ready, O ye heroes, by despot arms assailed ! 
For Houston is at Washington and Fannin's men 
have failed ; 



16 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Gountrg. 

Your eyes are tired with watching, your hope and 

help are gone, 
And Santa Anna's savage hosts will storm the fort 

at dawn ! 

The bugles blare the frenzied " Charge ! " The 

bands Deguelo play ; 
The cry, " No quarter," leaps and rolls above the 

morning gray ; 
Now God protect the heroes there ! If Santa Anna 

wins, 
Each Texan there shall slaughter share, if once the 

work begins. 

In yonder plaza stands the chief beside the hidden 

gun, 
While forward, forward, in attack the footmen rush 

and run ; 
To north and east, to north and west, the thronging 

thousands swarm, 
And oh, the horrid wings of death that ride upon 

the storm ! 

On still they sweep ! Is there no help — no arm 

outstretched to save ? 
Alas, that might can conquer right, the many slay 

the brave ! 
Like shambled sheep the thousands leap across the 

wall, — and — then — 
From room to room — they drive — to — doom — the 

still unconquered men ! 



XTbe JBallao of tbe Blamo. 17 

Here Travis fell ; here Bonham died ; here Evans 

perished, too ; 
There Crockett fell, by danger slain, who danger 

never knew ; 
There Bowie, on his bed of death, with pistols made 

reply 
To all his foes required of him, and taught them 

how to die ! 

How red and rare the deep wounds stare ! The 

Church this Sabbath day 
Knows scenes that none e'er saw before who 

gathered here to pray ; 
For dead and dying Mexicans are counted hundreds 

five, 
And of the gallant Texans not one is left alive ! 

God rest them well ! Their blood and brawn were 

gifts to liberty ; 
They died to save the Lone Star Flag, and make 

their people free ; 
And love shall keep their holy sleep and twine 

sweet garlands when 
The heart of Freedom mourns above brave Travis 

and his men. 

O, it ' s East and West and North and South, — it 's the 

Old World and the JVetv ; 
It 's every place that the human race has 7varred ana 

wandered through ; 



18 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Gountrg. 

But not the years that the ancients lived nor the years 

that the moderns know 
Such deeds have wrought as the men who fought at the 

Church of the Alamo ! 



THE BATTLE OF THE WASHITA. 

(The battle of the Washita was fought November 28, 1868, 
near the present town of Cheyenne, Roger Mills County, 
Oklahoma, between General Custer's Seventh Cavalry and 
Black Kettle's band of Indians.) 

"V ^HERE are battles by populous cities and battles 

where business roars ; 
There are battles in song-famous valleys and battles on 

ballad-sung shores j 
But the battles that conquered the prairies and laid the 

red devils to rest 
Are the battles of bounty and blessing that live in the 
lives of the West. 

There 's many a soldier lives in song whose deathless 

deeds were bold, 
But Custer was much the bravest man that ever had 

heart of gold ; 
There 's many a regiment rolled in fame, but none 

could braver be 
Than the men who rode to the Washita in the Seventh 

Cavalry ! 

The savage tribes in paint and plume have danced 

the dance of war, 
And bursting from the far southwest have wandered 

fast and far ; 

19 



so Songs from tbe Soutbvvest Country. 

And where they sweep the settler's keep in fire and 

smoke has fled, 
While settler, wife, and children, — all are lying 

scalped and dead ! 

The swart Cheyenne and Kiowa, the tall Arapahoe, 

Comanche, and Apache fierce, have joined the 
fiendish foe ; 

And swift along the far frontier with fire and slaugh- 
ter, too, 

They 've scourged the Kansas hills and plains with 
deeds that demons do. 

" Ho, to your saddles, Custer ! " Then thundered 

Sheridan ; 
" There 's work to do for such as you and for your 

gallant men ; 
I trust you well in everything ; with neither wait 

nor word 
Drive back these beasts into their lairs and make 

them feel your sword ! " 

" My boys are quick and tireless, sir ; no blade of 

grass shall grow 
Beneath our feet until we meet and slay the savage 

foe ; 
With lively pains we '11 scour the plains ; we '11 

soothe to rest again 
The seven seas of broad prairies and give them back 

to men ! " 



abe battle of tbe Tlfllasbita. 21 

" Now, red-skins, to your villages, and pray the 

Manitou, 
For Custer and his cavalry are on the trail for you ! 
And you shall feel their swords of steel, — 't is war's 

relentless law, — 
And see your lodges stained with blood beside the 

Washita." 

It was a gallant regiment that marched from old 

Fort Hays 
To hunt the prowling savages in those October 

days ; 
High beat their hearts and fearless, and plagues of 

want and woe 
Were bred to fall on each and all that dared to be 

a foe ! 

It 's southward over Kansas the eager troopers 
press ; 

It 's past Fort Dodge, and on and on, into the wil- 
derness ; 

It 's marching, marching, through the day, it 's 
mounting guard by night, 

Until at last the game is treed ; now, soldiers, to the 
fight ! 

" Ho, troopers, do you see it ? Here runs the re- 
cent trail ! 

Not far the Indian village now ; your mission shall 
not fail ; 



22 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Ere long the murdered white men, the women worse 

than slain, 
By your brave arms avenge their harms, and rest at 

peace again." 

Through sleet and snow the soldiers go ; what mat- 
ters wind or cold ? 

Their strong hearts warm defy the storm, with cour- 
age brave and bold ; 

Though quick-sands yawn and ice impedes, yet 
uncomplainin gly 

They forward march where Custer leads — the 
Seventh Cavalry ! 

" Now steadily and silently, O scouts, with caution 
crawl ! 

A single sound may reach the foe, and warn him 
once for all ; 

Too far we come, too far we march ; 't were ever- 
more our shame, 

If some neglect should rouse him now, and rob us 
us of our game. 

" Ho, ho ! Ho, ho ! Here ashes glow ! We now 

are near at last ; 
Heard ye that howl ? A snapping cur growls o'er 

his rough repast ! 
And — lower still ! Ye gods, what ill ! A baby's 

fretful cry ! 
Alas, that men such deeds must do, and little ones 

must die ! " 



Cbe Battle of tbe THUagblta. 23 

Now to the east and to the west and to the north 
and south, 

The men in silence find their way across the val- 
ley's mouth ; 

O sleeping red-skins, to your prayers ! Invoke the 
Manitou, 

For Custer and his cavalry are all surrounding you ! 

It 's little rest the soldiers take ; it 's little sleep 

they know, 
So cold the night howls overhead, so deep the 

drifted snow ; 
But tired limbs and heavy eyes have hastened far 

away, 
For " Garryowen " and the " Charge " shall sound 

at break of day. 

" The East grows pale ; the shadows fail ! When 

will the bugle blow ? 
Whose that command which lags behind, — which 

keeps us waiting so ? " 
Hark ! Loud and clear with cheer on cheer the 

" Charge " rings on the air, 
And, ere the lodges leap awake, the strong-limbed 

men are there ! 

Now steady, steady, steady, men ! Be cautious 

through the strife ! 
Each lodge leaps up, the village wakes, with savage, 

naked life ! 



24 Songs trom tbe Soutbwest Country. 

On fast and far ! On, lines of war ! Like tigers 
for their prey, 

Sweep onward still o'er highest hill, and every foe- 
man slay ! 

But yonder, yonder fires the foe from every far 
ravine ! 

And yonder, yonder, through the trees, the skulk- 
ing braves are seen ! 

And there, and here, from tepees near, the swarthy 
squaws reveal 

With deadly rifles aimed too well, the deadly hate 
they feel ! 

Let not that dirge wake pity now ! Hard, hard let 

hearts remain ! 
So shrieked, so mourned white women, too, o'er 

babes and husbands slain ! 
'T is but the death-song born of fear ; if Death is 

master there, 
God let them know how fierce is woe that prays a 

hopeless prayer ! 

Behind each bush a foeman lurks — behind each rock 

and tree ; 
Charge right and left ! Charge back and forth, till 

every one shall flee ! 
Red hearts must feel the stroke of steel ; for still 

their victims cry 
For vengeance on the ruthless foe, — for vengeance 

mountains high ! 



Gbe JBattle of tbc TKHasbita. 25 

Up hill, down vale, the troopers charge ; and fast 

the warriors all 
Before the swords of righteous wrath in terror flee 

and fall ; 
And every stroke writes down in blood what ne'er 

was writ before, 
" Black Kettle and his savage band shall ride the 

plains no more ! " 

Now rest ye, gallant troopers all ! The weary chase 
is done ; 

The savages are loose no more, the battle has been 
won ; 

These ghastly forms — five score and more — pro- 
claim how well have wrought 

Your soldier arms, your soldier swords, that leaped 
with righteous thought. 

O sleepers on the wide, wide plains ! O mangled, 

murdered men ! 
Not unavenged you rest to-day for all you suffered 

then ! 
Your savage foes are silent now ; these stains upon 

the snow 
Are red as those beside your doors a few short weeks 

ago! 

******* 

Where thus the white and red man strove, some 

thirty years ago, 
The stains no more make red the soil, and greenest 

grasses grow ; 



26 Songs from tbe Soutbwcst Country. 

And happy homes where roses twine and children 

laugh and play- 
Have filled with peace the vast frontiers since that 

eventful day. 

No more the war-paint redly glows upon the war- 
rior's face ; 

No more the war-dance reels and roars through all 
a savage race ; 

No more the bands of mounted braves in haste and 
hurry ride 

To murder men and ply the torch, through all the 
borders wide. 

No more red hands and redder hearts have king- 
doms for their reigns ; 

No more the war-whoops roll and ring across the 
desert plains ; 

No more the war-drums send abroad their doleful 
melody, 

Since Custer led his gallant men, — the Seventh 
Cavalry ! 

There are battles by populous cities and battles ivhere 

business roars ; 
There are battles in song-famous valleys and battles 

on ballad-sung shores; 
But the battles that conquered the prairies and laid the 

red devils to rest 
Are the battles of bounty and blessing that live in the 

lives of the West ! 



THE PLAINT OF THE TENDERFOOT. 

J~\OWN along the Cimarron where the currents 

twine, 
There I met an immigrant in eighteen eighty-nine ; 
He was all alone and his heart was stone, — he had 

gathered bitter fruit, 
And his hoarse voice rang as he sadly sang the Plaint 
of the Tenderfoot : 

From Indiana it was I came, some seventeen days 

ago, 
To find me a farm in the " Beautiful Land " that the 

boomers have tried to blow ; 
And in those few days I have lived more ways than 

the brutes of the jungles do ; 
I have seen more things than a bird with wings could 

flutter or fly up through ; 
And if ever I do get home again, though bacon and 

bread be slack, 
I '11 be content with a bit of both, and a clean shirt 

to my back. 

I have learned some things that are valuable ; it is 

now quite plain to me 
This opening up new lands to the world isn't what 

it is said to be ; 

27 



28 Songs trom tbe Soutbwest Country. 

With the " sooner " before and the " sooner " behind, 

the honest man has no chance ; 
They '11 gobble his claim and blacken his name and 

take every cent in his pants : 
And if ever I do get home again, no matter how 

much I lack, 
I '11 be content with an empty purse, and a clean 

shirt to my back. 

I stopped at Arkansas City, and bought me a horse 

and cart ; 
I crossed the Strip in elegant style, with a high and 

hopeful heart ; 
And " overland fish " was all my grub, and my drink 

was the water white 
Which rose in the tracks that the cattle made, 

through the dews of the chilly night ; 
And if ever I do get home again, they may call me 

white or black, 
But I '11 be content with an oat-straw bed, and a 

clean shirt to my back. 

I travelled a hundred miles, I think, and I slept on 

the ground, I know ; 
I never have washed or shaved my face since fifteen 

days ago ; 
For the wild wolves howled and ran them round in 

the most alarming curves, 
And I am not used to that sort of thing, — it is wear- 



ing on my nerves 



Zbc flMatnt of tbe ftenoerfoot. 29 

And if ever I do get home again, I may fall into 

wrong and rack, 
But I '11 be content with a quiet place, and a clean 

shirt to my back. 

I ran a race for a dozen miles, — a wild and a reck- 
less race, — 

That far surpassed Dick Turpin's ride or a London 
steeple-chase ; 

And when I stopped, not a single soul, — not a thing 
was there in sight, — 

But a vast amount of the meanest land that ever 
lay out at night ; 

And if ever I do get home again, I '11 stay in the 
beaten track, 

And be content with a good clean face, and a clean 
shirt to my back. 

But in half an hour on that very claim there were 

six men holding it, 
(I never hold out for a swine myself and I know 

when it 's time to quit ;) 
So I sold my right for a paltry five, and had given 

the buyer ten 
To take** the quarter and let me go and live in the 

world again "; 
And if ever I do get home again, no matter how 

small my pack, 
I '11 be content with a good whole skin, and a clean 

shirt to my back. 



30 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

I never was used to rifles much and pistols take my 

sand, 
And the boomers that love this soil so much have 

one or the other at hand ; 
And grub 's too dear for a man out here, and if I 

should the State receive, 
I never would stay but would up and away, as soon 

as I ever could leave ; 
And if ever I do get home again, I '11 sail on a safer 

tack, 
And be content with the breath of life, and a clean 

shirt to my back. 

I 've driven that horse on water and grass some 

thousands of miles, I know ; 
I 've shivered with cold and thirsted for drink and 

famished for eatables so ! 
But you never can see what a fool you can be till 

you turn yourself over and try, 
And you cannot be sure what a broncho '11 endure 

from the pauper-born look of his eye ; 
And if ever I do get home again, then death to the 

boomer's clack ! 
For I '11 be content with my hair slicked up, and a 

clean shirt to my back. 

Here 's the horse and cart and the love of my heart 

to whoever will ship me home ; 
Should I live as long as Methuselah did, I never 

again will roam ; 



Gbe UMaint of tbe Henoerfoot. 31 

I '11 return elate to the Hoosier State, — it is far too 

good for me ! 
This opening up new lands to the world is n't what 

it is said to be ; 
And if ever I do get home again, I '11 stay till the 

earth shall crack, 
And be content with a six-foot-two, and a clean shirt 

to my back ! 

Down along the Cimarron, where the currents twine, 
There I met an immigrant in eighteen eighty-nine ; 
He was all alone and his heart was stone, — he had 

gathered bitter fruit, 
And his hoarse voice rang as he sadly sang this Plaint 

of the Tenderfoot ! 



SLAUGHTERING THE PONIES. 

(After the battle of the Washita, eight hundred Indian 
ponies, which had been captured, were shot under General 
Custer's order, to prevent their re-capture by the Indians from 
whom they had been taken.) 

Battle is Battle and War is War ; 
Soldiers must do what their swords abhor ; 
And he who wins in the fierce assails 
Stiff ers and sins, like the one who fails. 

" Round up the horses, troopers ; we march at early- 
dawn ; 

Round up the horses quickly, — the forage all is 
gone; 

And take the Indian ponies, — eight hundred, so 
you say, — 

And shoot them in the valley about the break of 
day." 

The battle all is over ; the warriors far have fled, 
Save something like a hundred braves that slumber 

stark and dead ; 
The captured squaw and papoose are under guard, 

to be 
The trophies of the victors, — the Seventh Cavalry. 



Slaucjbtertng tbe ponies. 33 

It is a hundred miles or more ere they can reach 

again 
The quarters full of forage for jaded beasts and 

men ; 
The savages are everywhere ; a few short hours, 

and they 
Will ambush all the narrow trails and challenge to 

the fray. 

The captives must be guarded, too, and all must 
march in haste ; 

With famine fourteen hours ahead, there is no time 
to waste ; 

'T were folly deep the spoils to keep while facing 
such a foe, 

For, thus encumbered, all would die, while march- 
ing through the snow. 

" Round up the horses, troopers ; the forage all is 

gone; 
And, sergeant, take the ponies and slaughter them 

at dawn ; 
Eight hundred Indian ponies once dead, and we 

shall find 
Our enemies dismounted a hundred miles behind ! " 

****** 

The bugle wakes the sleepers ; the east is purple 

quite, 
And " Boots and Saddles " rouses the camp at 

morning light ; 



34 Songs from tbe Soutbvvest Country. 

'T is time that all were moving ; the rations are so 

small 
The soldiers and the captives can hardly eat at all. 

It 's back to Old Cantonment they go with horse 

and men ; 
It 's back to hear the praises of warlike Sheridan ; 
It 's back from all their hardships, with rest and 

victory 
Upon the famous banners of the Seventh Cavalry ! 

" Forward ! " the order echoes ; and forward up the 

hill, 
The soldiers and their captives move swiftly with a 

will ; 
For well the weary troopers with eager longings 

know 
That cozy barracks warm and snug are just across 

the snow. 

They march in silence forward ; hark ! Through 

the valley runs 
The rolling roar of firing from half a hundred guns ; 
The horses leap in terror ; a soldier mutters low, 
" They 're killing off the ponies we captured from 

the foe ! " 

Yet fainter grows the firing, and fainter, fainter still, 
Till single shots alone are heard across the wooded 
hill ; 



Slaugbtecing tbe pontes. 35 

Then silence falls behind them, and all the troopers 

know 
Eight hundred Indian ponies are dead upon the 

snow ! 

Upon a swinging gallop the troop belated comes 
And joins the marching columns, but silent are the 

drums ; 
And as they swing in squadron each trooper's eyes 

are dim, 
Because some helpless pony received a shot from 

him ! 

Excusable? Assuredly! No censure dare befall! 
To win excuses everything ; 't is failing blames it 

all! 
They won ; they won it bravely ; who dares to 

question aught 
Of all the mighty deeds they did, when once the 

deeds are wrought ? 

These piles of bones, you ask me ? These piles of 

bones they made 
That cold November morning at War's heroic trade, 
When Custer slaughtered quickly here in the 

drifted snow 
Eight hundred Indian ponies, some thirty years ago ! 

Battle is Battle and War is War; 
Soldiers must do what their swords abhor; 
And he who wins in the fierce assails 
Suffers and sins, tike the one who fails ! 



T 



DAVID L. PAYNE. 

IS he that finds 
New hopes for human grieving, 
New homes for men and women, who is great ; 
He frees their minds, 
He conquers their bereaving, 
And leads them forth,— the builders of the state. 

Not he that fills 
The world with blood and battle 
Is most the hero, though he win a crown ; 
The brute that kills 
Is worse than brutal cattle 
That blindly crush their weaker fellows down. 

Though wars may rage, 
In bread, not blood, is glory, — 
The plow is more exalted than the sword ; 
Who tells his age 
Advancement's mighty story 
Thrills all the future with each potent word. 

And such was Payne : 
His country's battles over, 
He stormed the desert, — bade the thousands come ; 

36 



Davlo X. fl>a£ne. 37 

Of wood and plain 
He made himself a rover, 
Homeless to win the homeless hosts a home. 

A new Crusade 
He preached, a second Hermit, 
A savage land from wildness to redeem ; 
He slowly made, 
Whatever fools may term it, 
A mighty force that realized his dream. 

He first conceived 
A homeless people making 
Glad homes of plenty where the coyotes ran ; 
He first believed 
This hidden land, forsaking 
Its desert ways, would leap the thrones of man. 

He broke no law, 
And yet the law's defenders 
Upon his guiltless head their vengeance poured ; 
The lion's paw 
That only helpless renders 
Tossed him, poor victim, and the lion roared ! 

And foolish men, 
Both civilized and savage, 
Swore he was wrong, and cursed with venom white ; 
They called him then 
An outlaw, born for ravage, 
A bandit chief, and locked him from the light. 



33 Songs from tbe Soutbwest dountcg. 

The soldiers came 
And led him forth in fetters, — 
A free man chained in Freedom's nooning time ; 
The prison shame, 
The dungeon damp, in letters 
Burning with blackness, branded him with crime. 

Yet forth he walked, 
Defying force and faction, 
A martyr scourged and beaten for his cause ; 
And as he talked, 
Demanding onward action, 
He shamed the people for their shameful laws. 

His ardent hopes, 
Like some divine aroma, 
Pervaded all the globe with sweet perfume ; 
And o'er the slopes 
Advanced young Oklahoma, 
His child of light, to make the desert bloom. 

This be his fame : 
The prison cell defying, 
He led mankind where bayonets blocked the way ; 
So shall his name 
In hearts of love undying 
Live through the ages to the farthest day. 

For those that lead, 
Despising death and danger, 
The ages build Fame's restless telegraph ; 



BaviO %. lpa^nc. 39 

He led, indeed ; 
And for the careless stranger 
Who knew him not, this be his epitaph : 

He dreamed and wrought, 
And dreaming wrought unceasing 
To shape his dreams and fill them to the full ; 
He dreamed and thought 
Of mighty States increasing, 
And gave his life to make them possible! 



KANSAS. 

CHE felt, they say, 
^ The battle-storms of earth, 
The cannons cradled her, 
The war-drums beat fierce lullabies 

At her wild birth ; 
Yet she in danger found a paradise, 
And bowed, — its worshipper ! 



'T was thus she roused 
The multitudes to arms, 
And made the nations feel 
The precepts they had taught and talked 

Of hurts and harms ; 
Until God came and led her, and she walked 
The child of sword and steel. 



40 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

What though she loves 
The Novel and the New ? 
What though she sometimes fall 
When scaling heights of sky and star 

To find the True ? 
For him that strives, God's angels shall unbar 
The gates of all in all ! 

What though her wounds 
Be many and severe ? 
What though her shoulder bend 
Beneath the crushing loads 

She does not fear ? 
Travel is easy in the beaten roads, — 
Ease has no worthy end. 

Though bruises come, 
The brave pursue the quest ; 
Though failure and defeat 
Their harsh, ignoble measures sing, 

To strive is best ; 
To sloth the Fates no crowns of laurel bring, 
And conquering is sweet. 

Who never strives 
Forever falls and fails 
Where Terror sways her hosts 
And Force with all the fraud of greeds 

Makes fierce assails ; 
'T is only he that battles on and bleeds 
Deserves his boasts. 



"Kansas. 41 

She seeks the New, — 
She loves its laughing youth ; 
She leaves the Old, as fear 
Forsakes the ways of pestilence ; 

And for the truth, 
Warm in the heart of high Omnipotence, 
She struggles year by year. 

Her heart, her hope, 
Is boundless as her plains ; 
She walks the starry ways, 
She leaps the vale and mountain-side, 

For endless gains ; 
Her faith haunts all the far horizons wide 
With voice of prayer and praise ! 

And so to thee, 
O Kansas, unto thee, 
Proud child of tale and song, 
Whom brave men filled with hope and health, 

Let blessings be ! 
Thou hast the soul of empires, commonwealth 
Whose infancy was strong ! 

Free blood fast bounds 
Along the sleepy veins 
At mention of thy name ; 
Thine eyes are on the future, great 

With wondrous gains ; 
Such be thy glory, and the years elate 
Shall justify thy fame ! 



THE STAMPEDE. 

"\ 1 7"E took our turn at the guard that night, just 

* * Sour-dough Charlie and I, 

And as we mounted our ponies, there were clouds 

in the western sky ; 
And we knew that before the morning the storm by 

the north wind stirred 
Would scourge the plains with its furies fierce and 

madden the savage herd ; 
But we did not shrink the danger ; we had ridden 

the plains for years, — 
The crash of the storm and the cattle's cry were 

music in our ears. 

We drove the herd to a circle ; for the winds were 

calm, and we knew 
That somewhere near to the midnight shift the 

storm-fiends would be due ; 
We rode the rounds unceasingly, and we worked 

with an anxious will 
Until the cattle were lying down and the mighty 

herd was still, 
And only the musical breathing of the bedded 

beasts arose 
As we rounded the living circle and guarded their 

light repose. 



TZbe Stampe&e. 43 

Then the storm came on in anger ; the winds of a 
sudden turned, 

The lightnings flamed through the seething skies, 
and the prairies blazed and burned ; 

The thunders rolled like an avalanche, and they 
shook the rocking world, 

That trembling quaked as the storm so wild its ban- 
ners of blaze unfurled ; 

The fires flew over the frightened herd and leaped 
from horn to horn 

Till horrible clamors rose and fell in chaos of fear 
forlorn. 

The herd awoke in a minute ; but we rode through 

the flashing ways 
And sang with a will the olden songs we learned in 

our childhood days ; 
The human voice has a wondrous power, and the 

wildest beast that moans 
Forgets its fear in a dream of peace at the sound of 

its tender tones ; 
And on through the blinding flashes and on through 

the dark and the light, 
We rode with the old songs ringing, and we prayed 

for the death of night. 

I never could tell how it happened ; there came a 

tremendous crash, 
A wolf jumped out of the chaparral, — and the herd 

was off in a flash ! 
And Charlie was riding before them ; then I saw 

him draw his gun 



44 Songe from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

And fire at the plunging leaders, till he turned them 

one by one ; 
Then the darkness fell, — I could not see, — and then 

in the blinding light 
My pard went down, and the maddened herd swept 

on through the savage night ! 

Him I found where the cattle rushed in the wild of 

their wandering, 
Broken and beaten by scores of hoofs, a crushed and 

a mangled thing ! 
And his pony lay with a broken leg, as dead as a 

rotten log, 
Where its foot had slipped in the hidden hole of a 

worthless prairie-dog. 
We buried him there — you can see the stones — and 

whether we die or live, 
We gave him the best of a funeral that a cowboy 

camp can give. 

His name ? It was Sour-dough Charlie, sir ; and 

whether a good or bad, 
We called him that for a score of years — it was all 

the name he had ! 
I found a locket above his heart, with a picture 

there of grace 
That showed a girl with a curly head and a most 

uncommon face ; 
Hero, you say ? Well, maybe so ; for I know it is 

oft confessed 
That he 's the kind of a man it takes for the work 

here in the West. 



A SONG FOR THE SETTLER. 

r I "HERE are songs for the valiant soldier 

-*■ Who fights for his native shore 
And carries her dauntless banners 

On a hundred fields or more ; 
There are songs for the gallant sailor 

Who conquers the crested foam, — 
Then a song for the prairie settler, — 

The man in the dug-out home ! 



He battles the boundless prairies, 

He sabres the savage soil, 
He masters the foes that face him, 

With the might of his tireless toil ; 
The plow is the flashing weapon 

That slaughters the sodden loam, 
And over them all he triumphs, — 

The man in the du°-out home. 



What matters the howling blizzard, 
The hot winds and the heat ? 

Through summer and winter he marches 
With the tread of victorious feet ; 

45 



46 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

He turns the sod and he sows it, — 

He reaps, whatever may come, 
And Plenty crowns with her blessedness 

The man in the dug-out home. 

He toils, and the barren desert, 

Forgetting its former days, 
Transforms itself to a garden, 

With a garden's wondrous ways ; 
And contentment fills his bosom 

While morning and evening gloam, — 
He 's a king that owns his kingdom, — 

The man in the dug-out home ! 

His coming is swift and silent ; 

He carries no sounding drum, 
But the savage hosts of the desert flee 

Whenever his legions come ; 
He conquers the untamed prairies, 

He masters the stubborn land, 
Till towns and cities and commonwealths 

Arise at his regal hand. 

O man in the prairie dug-out, 

Your peaceful arts are best, 
You have made new homes for the hopes of men, 

You have built the wondrous West ; 
And all that it holds exalted, 

And all that it prizes true, 
Would never have been without the toil 

Of a hero such as you ! 



ILtnes on Captain lpagne's Gabtn. 47 

Then a song for the valiant settler, 

And a song for his humble home ! 
For the valleys laugh and the prairies bloom 

Wherever his feet may roam ! 
He scatters the countless blessings 

That never their bounties cease, 
This man that is more than hero 

In his dug-out home of peace ! 



LINES ON CAPTAIN PAYNE'S CABIN. 

T 1 WITHIN this humble cabin dwelt 
v * A man who mankind's longing felt ; 
Who bravely strove and proudly wrought 
To fill his one heroic thought ; 
Who, seeking homes for thousands, made 
His bold incursions unrepaid, 
Though this, his castle, rose to bless 
With peace the savage wilderness, 
A light that saw, as once did he, 
The mighty commonvvealrhs to be. 

His was the mind that dared receive 

What others only half believe ; 

His was the heart that knew the need 

And dared the homeless hundreds lead ; 

His were the feet that dared to stand 

Undaunted in the savage land ; 

And his the hands that crowned his plan, 

And gave the desert back to man. 



48 Sonos from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

These are his meeds : Homes fill the plains 
Where he, a martyr, walked in chains, 
And every prison where he came 
Is holy with his holy fame ; 
The vales with towns are thicker set 
Than once with sword and bayonet, 
And every place where once he stood 
Proclaims the glories of his good. 

He dared ; he did ; and thus 't is so 
He reaps rewards that heroes know : 
A name that grateful people crown 
With lofty praise and high renown ; 
For kindly Heaven to him sent 
A commonwealth for monument ; 
Undying, unforgotten, then, 
While lives a loving race of men ! 



MOUNTAIN SONG. 

A WAY to the mountains, away, away ! 
■**• Beyond the desolate plains that rise 
From hollow vales where the rivers play, 

To the snowy summits that reach the skies ! 
The treasures of gold for our coming wait 

Beyond the desert so grim and gray ; 
Then a sigh and a tear for the loved ones here, 

And away to the mountains, away, away ! 



" mben tbe <Soloen*1RoD is fellow." 49 

Away to the mountains, away, away ! 

Their giant veins with a golden flood 
Throb ever, forever, and riot gay 

With regal riches of royal blood ; 
The odorous pines with their balmy breath 

Shall waft us a welcome, for aye, for aye ; 
Then a tear and a sigh and a tender good-bye, 

And away to the mountains, away, away ! 

Away to the mountains, away, away ! 

To dig and delve at their heart's rich core, 
To cut and carve where the treasures stay, 

And stain our hands with their yellow gore ; 
And after the moments of toil and care, 

We shall be happy as Spring's bright day ; 
Then a sigh and a kiss for the ones we shall miss, 

And away to the mountains, away, away ! 



WHEN THE GOLDEN-ROD IS YELLOW." 



P)REAMY haze of languor fills 
^^^ All the smoky valleys tender, 
And above the haloed hills 

Hangs the Summer's golden splendor ; 
Fields are rich with ripened grain, 

Orchards bend with fruitage mellow, 
Plenty rules the boundless plain, — 

When the golden-rod is yellow. 



50 Songs from tbe Soutbwcst Country. 

Spring, so young and debonair, 

Fell before the mighty Summer, 
And old Winter, worn with care, 

Overthrows the Autumn comer ; 
Gladness heaps the hearts of need, 

All are kings and none the fellow, 
And the world is bright indeed, 

When the golden-rod is yellow. 

Let contentment rule the board, 

Sing the songs that banish sadness ; 
Nature brings the bounties stored 

When the days were full of gladness ; 
Happiness shall lift her voice 

When the tempests rage and bellow, 
For the sons of men rejoice 

When the golden-rod is yellow. 

ON THE SHANKY-TANK. 

f^\ THE shady Shanky-tank ! There the willows 
^-"^ rich and rank 

Bend their happy heads together o'er the water's 
dimpled face, 
And with arms of gladdest glee clasp in royal revelry 
All the winsome, winding river in a rapturous em- 
brace ! 

Evermore a chorus swells from the tinkle of the 
bells 
Where the cows a-lowing loiter in the meadows 
on the bank, 



©it tbe 5banky=£anfe. 51 

And a boyish whistle throws all the music heaven 
knows 
From the birds that warble ever up and down the 
Shanky-tank. 

Days of laughter live again through the yearning 
years of men, 
And I blithely bend unwearied o'er the water 
waves below, 
Underneath the sycamore, just as in the hours of 
yore, 
And the fishes bite forever through the vanished 
Long Ago. 

Or secure in cool retreat from Midsummer's burning 
heat, 
Poised above the placid waters in the shadows 
deep and dim, 
There I plunge with sadden spring, claiming Nep- 
tune for my king, 
And, a fondly fearless merman, pass a pleasant 
hour with him. 

Oh, my feet unwearied are, though I wander fast and 
far 
Where the angels romped with boyhood through 
each happy quip and prank, 
And again my longings dine from the tables spread 
so fine 
With ambrosial foods and nectars on the shady 
Shanky-tank ! 



52 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 
OKLAHOMA. 

T T ERE through the ages old the desert slept 
-*-■*• In solitudes unbroken, save when passed 
The bison herds, and savage hunters swept 

In thundering chaos down the valleys vast ; 
But lo ! across the desert margins stepped 
Progression's mighty legions, and one blast 
From her transforming trumpet filled the last 
Lone covert where affrighted wildness crept. 

Full armed and armored at her wondrous birth, 
Her shining temples wreathed with gorgeous 
dower, 

She sits among the empires of the earth ; 

Her proud achievements o'er the nations tower, 

Won by her people with their royal worth 
Of lofty culture, wisdom, wealth, and power ! 



THE MISSISSIPPI. 



HP HIS mighty stream that types a people free, 
■*■ Upon whose breast the argosies of pride 
And all the navies of the nations ride, 

Sings evermore exalted songs to me ; 

The margins tall breathe hymns of majesty, 
And every eddy of the onward tide, 
An orchestra, quires endless music wide, 

And full of peace, and tender as the sea. 



Gbe plains. 53 

A thousand cities by thee burn and blaze, 

Vast commonwealths beside thee sentry keep, 
And empires o'er thee clasp their guarding 
hands ; 
Yet my full heart hears anguish in thy lays : 
Old mountain mem'ries in their dirges weep 
And, in their ditties, sigh for unseen lands ! 



THE PLAINS. 

' I " HEY called them" Deserts " once; but like a sea 

•** The tides of life with leaping currents warm 

Swept in the countless millions, swarm on swarm, 

And covered all their vast immensity ; 

The wildness changed to bounties for the free, 

And man's firm hand tamed there the savage 

storm, 
And slowly sure came rounding into form 
The giant limbs of commonwealths to be. 

These prairies teem with plenty ; these high streams 
Roll rich, unmeasured lengths of waters down ; 

And cities are beside them, whose fair dreams 
With stately splendor every hilltop crown ; 

Each valley smiles with gladness, and it seems 
The desert has forgotten how to frown. 



54 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 
BY THE OVERLAND TRAIL. 

HP HIS was the path of empire. Fifty years 

■*■ Have hung their halos where heroic rolled 
The white-topped wagons of the pioneers 

Who walked the desert ways for dreams of gold. 
How gaunt and ghastly spread the far frontiers 

With care and carnage for the pale-face bold, 
When savage legions with embattled spears 

Brought death and danger to the days of old ! 

Here crossed the prairies toward the Golden Gates 
The fathers, founders of the newer West ; 
They conquered kingdoms in their mighty quest, 

And sowed the seeds of cities, towns, and states ; 
Lo, by their prowess is the present blest, 

And on their glory all the future waits ! 



WHERE CUSTER FELL. 

\\7 HERE Custer fell ! The nation strows 
The brightest garlands Honor knows 
Upon the marbles that alway 
Mark holy mounds of yellow clay, 

And wreaths of glory there bestows. 

The Little Big Horn softly goes 
Around the ridges, and it flows 
With sweeter music all the day 
Where Custer fell. 



XTbe Sunflower, 55 

For him, the Matchless, him and those 
Who died with him before their foes, 
Let Grandeur twine her laurels gay, 
Let Freedom shout their fame and say : 
" Heroes of might alone repose 
Where Custer fell ! " 



THE COWBOY POET. 

/^~VER the prairies vast of created things roam 
^- > ^ the steers of my thoughts in herds, 

Where I round them up for the branding-iron and I 

lariat them with words ; 
Then away to the great corrals of books do I drive 

the unruly throng, 
Till the world appears at the stock-yard pens and 

receives them there in song ! 



THE SUNFLOWER. 

T N pomp this princess of the prairie stands, 

A crown of gold upon her head sublime ; 

She sways her sceptre o'er the gorgeous lands 

And rules, the mistress of the realms of time ; 
But from her eyes no glances earthward run : 
She gazing worships toward her god, the sun ! 



SONNETS. 



57 



BOOKS. 

*T^HESE are not ink and paper ! They are souls 
■■■ That strove in travail ; they are lives of tears ; 
The brain-throbs and the heart-beats of long 
years 
Writhe in dumb agony upon these scrolls ! 
Here smiles the Hope that like an ocean rolls 
From Deed to Duty ; here weep doubts and fears 
In bosoms tremulous ; here Love endears 
Disconsolate toil and endless hate controls. 

Aye, these are inspiration ! In the low 

Sad hours of weakness, they are stores of might ; 

They treasure truths eternal, and they glow 

With stars brought earthward from unmeasured 
Night ; 

Somewhat of God's great verities they know, 
Somewhat of Man's far future and its light ! 



THE TEACHER. 

T3EH0LD the Priest of Knowledge! On the 

*-* heights 
Where vast Omniscience over-arching broods, 
He stands w T ith Truth, in whose infinitudes 

Blaze the swung censers and the altar lights ; 
59 



60 Songs from tbe Southwest Country. 

There he, beloved of Wisdom and her rites, 
Receives the verities and endless goods, 
The graces of old Nature's wondrous moods, 

And all the stars of Glory's happy nights. 

Lo, at the touching of his finger-tips, 

Earth's bended millions lose their burdened 
years, 

Unshackled slaves are masters of their fears, 
And Fate destroys her serpent-woven whips ; 

At his fond whispers men forget their tears 
And chant the songs of God's Apocalypse ! 

ON THE GREAT PYRAMID. 

T T ERE Time uplifts the curtains of the Past, 

-*- -*- And shows what hides behind them. Lo, I 
stand 
Upon the gravestones of a mighty land 

Like yonder Sphinx, unspeaking to the last ! 

There sweep the sacred Nile's great waters vast ; 
There Cairo sits ; and there the Libyan sand 
Spreads shadowless. There Goshen's plains ex- 
pand, 

Where Jacob and his children broke their fast ; 

There, farther on, the ancient land of Ur, 

Whence Abram journeyed, meets the rounded 
sky; 

Yon heaps of rubbish Memphis, Ghizeh, were, 
And here entombed old Egypt's glories lie 
Ghastly and silent, though the world comes nigh 

And stirs the dust once animate in her ! 



Bt IRoesetti's ©rave. 61 

IN A PUBLIC LIBRARY. 

*T^HESE walls are hero-haunted. Prisoned here 
Are princes of enchantment. King and sage, 
Great knight and warrior from romantic age, 
In all their wealth of glorious deeds appear. 
The mad magician and the saintly seer, 

The brave and great, their mighty struggles 

wage ; 
Fair ladies and base men o'er silent page 
Move on forever through each changing year. 

Here sleeps the fabled and here lives the true ; 
Who kept his faith and who that faith betrayed ; 
The heart of honor and the soul of shame ; 
The worthless censure reap, the worthy, fame ; 
Some bring new burdens, some their fellows aid, 
But all are here, O child of joy, for you ! 



AT ROSSETTI'S GRAVE. 

T T E sleeps in sight and hearing of the sea, 

Its music and its murmurs ; fondly reach 
Incessant voices of angelic speech 

Across his grave and all its mystery. 

The restless waves with sounds of solemn glee 
Beat softly on the Kentish shores, and teach 
The winds that linger on the lonely beach 

The songs of his exalted melody. 



62 Songs from tbe Soutbweet Countrg. 

Great Art he served, — she was his life and light ; 

Sweet Music sang, — she was his happiness ; 
Till Glory twined his royal brows with might, 

And Fame's fond chorus lulled his soul's dis- 
tress ; 
Then Death, God's angel, came and in the night, 
Soothed him to slumber with Love's kind 
caress. 



NEW ENGLAND. 

\T O common history hers. Great Freedom filled 
■*■ ^ Her infant nostrils with the winds of power, 
Love led her childish feet, and Labor thrilled 

Her youthful yearnings into fruited flower ; 
Then commonwealths and cities rose that hilled 

Her matron brows with Plenty's gorgeous 
dower, 
And Art's imperial armies, service-skilled, 

Clothed her in garbs of glory hour by hour. 

Heroic children of heroic days 

Drank virtue, faith, and valor from thy breast, 
Along thy hills and valleys, brooks and bays ; 

Then crossing prairie, scaling mountain crest, 
They roamed the deserts and the lonely ways, 

And empires reared through all the boundless 
West ! 



£be ZlRigbttest. 63 

IMMUTABLE. 

T^RET not thyself because the world and thee 

A May stand in opposition. What though 
coarse 
Mob-hordes of error hurl invectives hoarse 

And surging curse and threaten like a sea ? 

What though foul serpents dark with calumny 
Circle their horrid folds, and evil Force 
Chain thy poor limbs ? Seek Wisdom at her 
Source : 

If Truth be thy companion, thou art free ! 

One day the rabble with uncovered head 
And silent face shall gather at thy grave, 

Shall heap thy tomb with Honor's holy bread 
For all the stones malignant malice gave ; 

Lo, there the world remorseful tears shall shed, 
And crown thee master whom it slew a slave ' 



THE MIGHTIEST. 

A /TAN'S Thought is greater than his life. His 
*-**■■ soul 

Is more abiding than the nimble breath 
That moves his lips with love's divine control 

And leaves them voiceless at the gates of death. 
Beyond the darkened wayside where he gropes 

In mystic shadows for the paths of light, 



64 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

He lives enraptured in the larger hopes 

That float before him like the stars of night. 

Great Thoughts, like drum-beats in the battle, come 
To rouse through ages all the hosts of earth, 

To conquer here a long millennium, 
And thrill the nations into newer birth ; 

Man's life is measure of a few small tears ; 

His Thought is endless as the ceaseless years ! 



LILITH. 

TV J EN call her fair. Madonna brows of white 
l\x with midnight hair encircled ; childish eyes 

Of liquid wonders wide ; uncertain-wise 
Her dimpled cheeks of blossom. Jewels bright 
Flood her full bosom with the stars of night ; 

Soft laces billow cloud-wreaths of the skies ; 

Her slightest footfalls breathe sweet melodies, 
And all her movements echo music light. 

But, Childhood, be thou fearful ! Her desires 
Burn most voluptuous under draperies thin ; 

Her soul of guilty lewdness never tires ; 

Her passions ravage all the hearts they win ; 

Her lips are crimson with the scarlet fires, 
And eat for bread the wages of her sin ! 



preoccupied. 65 

ABSENT. 

[" STOOD before her cottage in the gloom 

And knew it was deserted. Longings came 
And urged my drooping lips with loud acclaim 
To summon her from all her ways of bloom. 
Shut doors and darkened windows ! O, the doom 
That weights the heart with absence of a name ! 
I stood and gazed with all my senses lame 
Before the temple of her silent room ! 

The grasses whispered, "She shall come again ! " 
The roses said, " She 's coming, coming soon ! " 
The song-birds cried, " For us she longs and 
longs ! " 
For me alone no promise waited then, 
For me alone the world was out of tune, 
And silent then were all its happy songs ! 



PREOCCUPIED. 



"W'ES, I am strange at times, and people shake 
■*■ Their sage heads wisely at my empty face, 

My vacant eyes of wonder, and they place 
Their fingers to their foreheads. Never wake 
Their narrow souls with melodies that break 

In glorious music from the fields of grace ; 



66 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

For their rude gaze no sons of Heaven make 
Such wonders as my yearnings fondly trace. 

They nothing know of where my soul is then, — 
My rapt, enraptured soul, which eye to eye 

Meets visions that are seldom seen by men, — 
My soul which hears God's music pipe on high, 

And feeds on raptures such as blossom when 
The child of time walks in the Bye and Bye. 



A DREAM. 

r I A HIS dream is sweet, — would God it were for 
-*- aye ! 

My soul is clothed with freedom, and in might 
Soars upward as an angel of delight, 

While there my body lies, — poor piece of clay ! 

Those are my friends yet living. What they say 
Sounds on my quickened senses. Helpless quite 
Am I to greet them ; but these hosts in white, — 

Ah, these are friends I knew but yesterday ! 

And am I dead ? Nay, nay, but living ! Those 
Who scatter tears upon the silent face 

Of that still body are the dead ones ! Woes 
And agonies and anguish have a place 

In all the years they wander, but the rose 
Of God's eternal pleasures gives me grace ! 



£o . 67 

TO . 

T COUNT as lost the years I knew thee not, — 

A The desert years that longed to know the bloom 
Of laughing springs, the summers of perfume, 

And fruited autumns in each barren spot ; 

When all my life, with fiercest longings hot, 
And hopes unsatisfied, groped in the gloom 
Of perished fancies, and, distract with doom, 

Faced horribly the future's horrid lot. 

But hope smiles upward from thy laughing lips, 
Love miracles the trusting of thine eyes, 
And joy leaps at the touching of thy hands ; 
O, wreathe me with thy rosy finger-tips ! 
For life seems heaven in the deep surprise 
Of knowing one who sees and understands ! 



TO 



PHE long, dear thoughts of thee that absence 

brings 
Are sweet and sacred ever ! How I trace 
The tender fulness of thy kindly face 

Through all the dreams to which my rapture clings ! 

And from thy lips of happy laughter rings 
Incessant music whose mysterious grace 
Hides in my heart and finds a dwelling-place 

Where all my hope with fondest fancy sings ! 



68 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Fate played me false when far my feet she drew 
From thy companionship, and led me past 
The gladness and the sunshine leaping there ; 
And still to-day with evils not my due 
My life from thee is held in fetters fast, 

And countless devils mock my constant prayer ! 



THE ONE WHO UNDERSTANDS. 

CHE needs no language. Hers the soul that 
brings 

The songs of gladness for the sobbing cries, 

The smiles of rapture to the tearful eyes, 
And all the grace of God's angelic things ; 
Upon her lips a choir cherubic sings, 

And from her hands fall Love's divine sup- 
plies ; 

Her touch is eloquent of Paradise, 
And every motion seems a throb of wings. 



What sweet contentment fills the placid place 
Where calm she sits with silent lips and hands 

And holds in ecstasy of rapt embrace 

The heavy heart-soul with her sweet commands I 

Methinks that heaven blossoms in the face 
Of her who sees, and, seeing, understands. 



TUnfovgettfug. 69 

SYMPATHY. 

A S some great flower whose imperial bloom 
***• Fills all the desert with supreme delight, 
And pours from heart of glory day and night 
The laughing streams of purified perfume, 
Yet dying droops and withers in the doom 

Hurled fiercely down from Noon's relentless 

height, — 
So shrank my life in conflict, conquered quite, 
Helpless and hopeless, praying for the tomb. 

But one there came with kindness in her eyes, 
And on her lips the lessons angels teach ; 
She brought me dews reviving, rains that reach 
From blessed fountains of benignant skies : 
My veins throb wines of valor, and I rise 

Strong-armed, stout-hearted, at her tender speech ! 



UNFORGETTING. 

A S these pale roses, crushed and faded so, 
^*- Dry as the withered stubble, faintly keep 
The gorgeous nights of starry splendors deep, 
The happy days of sunshine and their glow, — 
As in their hearts the morns they used to know, 
The gentle noons and eves of shadow sleep, 
And tender odors, full of fondness, creep 



70 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

From treasured fragrance of the Long Ago, — 
So my poor soul, a shrivelled, worthless thing, 

Remembrance holds of half-forgotten spheres 
Where first it felt the sunshine of the spring 

And drank the nectars of the golden years ; 

And now and then, between the plash of tears, 
It sobs the music that it used to sing. 



THE DOOR OF LIFE. 

"T^EATH is the door of Life. There frightened 
*-* flees 
The hard, ignoble world of warring creeds, 
The realm of narrow hopes and selfish deeds, 
The crime and curse of murder and disease. 
The small, bombastic fools that sore displease, 
The swollen knaves and microscopic breeds, 
Stay far behind, and happiness succeeds 
With songs of rapture and the shades of ease. 
The gods are then companions of our days, 
The noblemen of nature and the great, 

The royal hearts that found the world too 
small ; 
And through the vast, illimitable ways, 

Where Peace and Joy, sweet servants, gladly 
wait, 
We walk with Truth, and Love is All in All. 



IFnaction. 71 

INACTION. 

(On account of the well-recognized precedents in such mat- 
ters, the Administration does not think the present stage of 
affairs in Cuba justifies any change in the attitude of the Gov- 
ernment. — Press despatch.) 

\ \ THAT ! must thou pause, my Country, cring- 
* ^ ing low- 

Before these puppets made of precedent ? 
Thou unto whom the wrathful ages lent 

Their swarming forces to o'ercome thy foe ? 

Break off thy cobweb fetters ! Dost thou know 
How from thy lips imploring prayers were sent 
When thou wert feeble, till thy chains were rent 

And all thine enemies met overthrow ? 

Arise and act ! These be heroic times, 
And men are heroes when they duty do ; 

These precedents are idols, and all climes 
Shall worship kneeling only God the True ; 
Behold thy banner waving ! In its view 

A sin 'gainst freedom is the worst of crimes ! 



72 Songs from tbe Southwest dountrs. 
TO THE RESCUE. 

"VTEA, send thy succor quickly ! Far too long, 
- 1 With heart unheeding and with palsied hands, 
Great Freedom's First-born slow and slothful 
stands, 
While armied legions 'round her neighbor throng ; 
Force striving after murder, fierce and strong, 
Poises the dripping dagger ; thus commands 
Obeisance unto despots, and his brands 
Make desolate the Ocean's Pearl with wrong ! 

And what though tyrants bluster ? In thy youth, 
O, land of life's best longings, they cursed thee, 

And thou didst fear not ! Drive the wolves un- 
couth 
Back to their darkness, till the western sea 

Rolls fetterless ! Unsheathe thy sword for Truth, 
And swear, God willing, Cuba shall be free ! 



MISCELLANEOUS. 



73 



o 



AT EASTERTIDE. 

iVER hill and over dale, 
Over mountain, over vale, 
Hear, oh, hear 

All the music sweet and clear 
From the horns of Easter blowing, 
Like a river flooded flowing 

Over meadows far and near ! 
Wheresoe'er the echoes drift, 
How the sleeping blossoms lift 
In a resurrection swift 

From the horrid graves they knew 
When the winds of winter blew ! 
How the joyous, jocund throats 
Of the happy birds 
Open wide and fling 
Outward, up, a song that floats 

Sweeter far than human words, 
Full of tender, laughing notes, 
Where they soar and sing ! 
'T is a time, tender time, 
Full of rich and royal rhyme, 
Ever full of happy song and glee 
And the mighty magic sunny of angelic melody. 
75 



76 Songs trom tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Gabriel sounds his trumpet wide ; 
'T is the joyous Eastertide ! 
Yester eve the world was dead 

In the cold embrace of night ; 

Morning brought the life and light, 
And the shadows quickly fled, 
And the brooding shadows far away have fled. 

Over prairie, over wood, 
Over all the solitude, 
See, oh, see 

All the buds and blossoms wee, 
How they come with rapture leaping 
From the heavy shadows sleeping 
Where the storms of winter be ! 
When the Spring, the angel, calls 
With creative voice that falls 
Through the dark and dismal halls 
Where they hidden lie asleep, 
Suddenly they live and leap ! 
How their tender beauty thrills 
With its gentle grace 
All the darkened earth, 
All the rivers, all the rills, 
With a tenderness that fills 
Every solitary place 
With a newer birth ! 

Oh, the Spring, laughing Spring ! 
Ever full of joys that bring 
To the wooded valley and the plain 
Gorgeous glories full of spendor that shall ever- 
more remain ! 



St JEastertloe. 77 

Gabriel blows his music wide ; 
'T is the joyous Eastertide ! 
Yester eve the earth was lone 

In the winter time of wrong ; 

Morning came with light and song, 
And the sorrows fast have flown, 
And the heavy sorrows far away have flown ! 

Let the longings rule and reign 
Over heart and over brain ! 
Glad and gay 

Are the songs that sound alway, 
That in chorus warble tender 
From a thousand throats of splendor 

All the bright and happy day. 
Robin, lark, and linnet sing, 
Wren and bluebird music bring, 
Borne on swift and joyous wing 
From the sunny homes afar 
Where the balmy breezes are. 
How their carols roll and rise 
As they scatter wide 

All their treasured glees, 
Sweet as songs of Paradise 
Underneath elysian skies, 

Till the plain and mountain-side 
Reel with melodies ! 

Oh, the days, perfect days, 
When we walk in holy ways, 
And the pleasant paths wherein we go 
Heaven's gentle benedictions and earth's purest 
pleasures know ! 



78 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Gabriel blows with pomp and pride ; 
' T is the joyous Eastertide ! 
Yester eve the earth was sad, 
And her hills and valleys bare ; 
Morning clothed her sweet and fair, 
And she trips a maiden glad, 
Trips a maiden blest with beauty, who is most 
divinely clad ! 



Let the life be glad and gay, — 
'T is the resurrection day ! 

Gabriel calls 

From their ghost-enchanted halls 
Every warble choice and choral, 
Every blossom fond and floral, 

And the sweetest music falls ! 
As the flowers of beauty leap 
From their cradles dark and deep, 
Let thy soul in rapture sweep 

Through the aisles of glory long 

On the wings of psalm and song ! 
Joyous be thou in the glee 

Of the flowers that bloom, 
Of the birds that sing, 
Till enchanted melody 
Fills the race with revelry, 

And no shade or shadowed gloom 
Dwells within the spring ! 

Time of cheer, soothing cheer ! 
When millennial days are near, 



Gbe ©ID iRange IRoafc. 



79 



Pleasures hurry onward like a flood, 
And the erring ones are angels, angels that are 
great and good. 

Gabriel calls our souls away, — 
' T is the resurrection day ! 
Yester eve with droop and sigh 
Life was all despairing fears ; 
Morning wipes away our tears 
In the golden Bye and Bye, 
In the dreamed-of, in the sought-for, in the 
longed-for Bye and Bye ! 



THE OLD RANGE ROAD. 

/^\ RANGE Road wide and wonderful, that 

paths of heaven made 
Through all the olden, golden ways where childish 

fancies played, 
Every inch of all your gladness is so eloquent to-day 
Of all we told each other in the years that went 

away ! — 
So eloquent of joyousness, my heart is like a prayer, 
And I would fold and fondly hold and keep you 

always there ! 

We had delightful dearnesses of rapture, you and I, 
When living, in the Long Ago, the laughing Bye and 

Bye, 
When every mortal passing us was angel good and 

wise, 



80 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

That wandered out of heaven's gates and back to 

Paradise, 
And all the worlds so wonderful came with them 

one and all, 
And stayed with us and played with us, — but left us 

mean and small ! 

And how we hoped to follow them some happy day 

to come, — 
Those glory-dreams of conquering, of might and 

masterdom ! 
We 'd march across the continent, we 'd sail across 

the sea, 
And take whatever pleasured us to sceptre you and 

me ; 
And all the wealth and wonder, the palace and the 

throne, 
We 'd confiscate and capture and make them all our 

own ! 

And over you and unto me men walked miraculous, 
And brought the stranger countries directly home 

to us ; 
Oh, how we listened, — you and I, — to all the tales 

they told 
Of Indians and of pirates, of cocoanuts and 

gold ; 
And how, through all the after-dreams that haunted 

night and day, 
Their anecdotes looked in again and glorified the 

way ! 



Gbe ©10 IRange IRoafc. 81 

There was the sailor who had gone across the seas 

of calm, 
And, castaway, had lived awhile amid the isles of 

palm ; 
Who sported with the cannibals and taught them so 

complete 
They learned at last that mission-men are never 

good to eat ; 
But finally a ship hailed he, and coming to his 

home, 
Found wife and children all were dead, — which 

made him love to roam ! 



There was the soldier who had been his country's 
stay and shield 

At Winchester and Gettysburg when carnage swept 
the field ; 

Who marched with Sherman to the sea and tri- 
umphed o'er the foe, 

But left a leg and arm behind because of fighting 
so ; 

And as he fought and marched away and told his 
tales again 

The hearts of us were strangely moved to do the 
deeds of men. 



And then that little fellow ! the thin, dyspeptic 

one, 
Who sat and told his stories till night was nearly 

done ! 



82 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

He lived in big Chicago, was rich as heart's desire, 
And had a wife and little ones, before the awful 

fire ; 
But it burned up his family and all he had of worth, 
Which sent him forth a wanderer all up and down 

the earth. 

The juggler and the showman, too, who made their 
livings thus, 

The tinman and the ragman came, and all dis- 
coursed to us ; 

The Irish-linen peddler, the man who soldered tins, 

Who told us all their stories of all their outs and 
ins ; 

And there were scores of others whose doings large 
and vast 

Inspired to do as they did, when childhood should 
be passed ! 

And so our hearts were opened, old Range Road, 

yours and mine, 
To all earth's dismal shadow and all its golden 

shine ; 
And those that went along you went over me and 

through, 
And beckoned me to follow them and prove their 

tales to you ; 
And so we looked with longing through happy 

cycles when 
I 'd wander full of wonder down the mighty years 

of men. 



XLbc ©ID IRange IRoafc. 83 

And here I am and here you are, old Comrade, 

much the same 
As when I left you long ago to climb the hills of 

fame ; 
I meet you and I greet you, and call you all my 

own 
Beyond the years of vagrancy my truant feet have 

known ; 
And in your eyes and face and hands I feel as not 

before 
A perfectness of tenderness they never knew of 

yore. 



The stories that they brought were true ; the won- 
ders that they told 

Revealed the world of men and things and all they 
have and hold ; 

But after all my wanderings through all that men 
may do 

I 'm weary of their heartlessness and hasten home 
to you ; 

And 'spite of all that 's happened since, the days we 
used to know 

Sing in my soul forevermore the songs of long ago ! 



There ! Let me take your hand in mine and feel 

your friendly face, 
And lay us heart to heart again in childhood's warm 

embrace ! 



84 Sonas from tbc Soutbvvest Country. 

We are not old or broken down ; we both are young 

as when 
I left the vales of childhood for the rugged hills of 

men ; 
These hairs upon our foreheads are only white with 

truth, — 
These tears upon our eyelids are happy tears of 

youth ! 

We used to quarrel a little. You thought me reck- 
less quite ; 

I called you old and fogy and foolish day and 
night : 

And thus we bickered somewhat ; but after all 
we 've seen, 

We know each other better now with fifty years 
between ; 

For lives of work and wisdom hold never such sur- 
prise 

As gazes down the future through childhood's ten- 
der eyes. 

Let us forgive each other ! Of all the good and true, 
I find you best and truest, and hold my heart to you ; 
I hold it close and closer, and let you clasp it there 
With something born of rapture between a praise 

and prayer ; 
And through the years unending, the years of good 

and ill, 
We '11 laugh and play together, — forever children 

still ! 



THE NIGHT. 

r^i the Night ! 
^^^ When the might 
Of the boundless heavens bright 
Fills the hopes with satisfaction and the longings 
with delight ; 

When the roll 
And the toll 
Of Life's thunders lose control, 
And a wondrous diapason sounds the organs of the 
soul ; 

And a hymn 
Faintly dim 
Haunts the far horizon's rim, 
Like the lilt of angel music in the chants of 
cherubim ! 

In the still 
Hours that fill 
Fiendish fancies full of ill, 
To the innocent upwander all the wants of wish 
and will ; 

And the wide 
Fields of pride 
Send their monarchs side by side 
8^ 



86 Songs from tbe Southwest Country. 

With the holy saints and martyrs that were crossed 
and crucified ; 
Till despair 
Weights the air 
With the moaning cries of care, 
And the world kneels by the Father in a sin-subdu- 
ing prayer ! 

In the weird, 
Wild, and feared 
Realms of silence, cherub-cheered, 
How we clasp in fond embraces all that time and 
toil endeared ! 

How the strife 
Fiercely rife 
With the roll of drum and fife, 
Dies away in tender music of a more exalted life, 
And the small 
Leaps the wall 
Where the less and little fall, 
Till thyself is nothing, nothing, and thy God is All 
in All ! 

Then the tears 
Leave the years, 
And the foolish frights and fears 
List to whispers high and holy heard alone by 
prophet's ears ; 
And the cry, 
Sob, and sigh 



Cbe IMgbt. 87 

Leave the stricken soul for aye, 
As he wanders in the wonders of the blessed Bye 
and Bye ; 

And the woe 
Demons know 
In the dungeons dark below 
Never shades the dreams he cherished in the happy 
Long Ago ! 

How the gay 
Raptures play, 
As our ships that sailed away, 
All are anchored safe at harbor in the waters of the 
bay ! 

As the trust 
Of the just 
Soars above the dew and dust 
Till the " may " of faith and fancy overcomes the 
might of " must" ; 
And Love drips 
Pain's eclipse 
From the Saviour's finger-tips, 
And the world is wed to Heaven in the Lord's 
Apocalypse ! 

O the Night ! 
When the might 
Of the boundless heavens bright 
Fills our hopes with satisfaction and our longings 
with delight ; 



88 Songs from tbe Soutbweet Country. 

When the roll 
And the toll 
Of Life's thunders lose control, 
And a wondrous diapason sounds the organs of the 
soul ; 

And a hymn 
Faintly dim 
Haunts the far horizon's rim, 
Like the lilt of angel music in the chants of 
cherubim ! 



O MY HEART, BE BRAVE AGAIN!" 



O 



my heart, 
Be brave again ! 
Bear thy part 

A man of men ! 
These dark things of awe and error 
Swift shall vanish with their terror, 
And the fears that frighten so 
Down the dying years shall go, 
Till the days rejoice resplendent with the hopes that 

sweetly shine 
Through the vistas of the future and its Edens 
that are thine ! 

What if ways 

Seem rough with wrong 
Through the days 

Of sigh and song ? 



"© ME f>eart, JBe JBrave again!" s g 

Thou shalt clasp the hearts that love thee, 
Thou shalt climb the hills above thee, 

Thou shalt reach the land that seems 
All the heaven of thy dreams, 
And a glorifying whisper shall exalt thy deepest 

care 
To the blessed benediction of a cherub's perfect 
prayer. 

Drive thy fears 

And doubts away ! 
Down the years 

Are pleasures gay ; 
These distressing clouds of sadness 
Only veil the suns of gladness ; 
These unholy weeds of woe 
Only hide the blooms below ; 
And the sun shall lift the blossoms till their ten- 
derness shall stream 
Through the laughter of thy longing and the dear- 
ness of thy dream ! 

Bear the blows 

That fortune gives ! 
Sorrow knows 

Each one that lives. 
Be a man that bravely faces 
All his failures and disgraces ; 

Be a man that struggles strong, — 
Arm of might and soul of song ! 



go Songs trom tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Till the sceptres of the raptures thrust thy fierce 

detractors down, 
And the world's ignoble shouters tremble at thy 

robe and crown ! 



Joys for thee 

Shall crowding come 
In that free 

Millennium, 
And the woes that weeping vex thee 
Never, never shall perplex thee ! 
For the years of Bye and Bye 
Shall with rapture sanctify 
All the weary ways we wander through the crags of 

blight and blame 
To the high and holy hilltops in the glory-lands of 
fame ! 



T 



CREEDS. 

'ALK not to me 
Of stern decree, — 
Of creeds that bind their betters ; 
There is no grace 
In things that place 
The human soul in fetters ! 

Wake not the fear, 
Start not the tear, 
That speaks of wondrous terror ; 



GreeDs. 91 



Man's heart is gold, 
Its worth untold, 
In spite of all his error. 

No more rehearse 

The priestly curse, 
The ban for unbelieving ; 

No more condemn 

The souls of them 
That over guilt are grieving. 

The haughty soul 

Who claims control 
Because of vestments holy, 

Has never felt 

The good that dwelt 
In Christ, the meek and lowly ! 

In hands that feed, 

In hearts that bleed, 
Truth sees her greatest teacher. 

Far more than all 

The bans that fall 
From lips of priest or preacher. 

For lives that lift 

The souls adrift, 
The hosts of hate are yearning ; 

To such as know 

Their grief and woe, 
The sons of men are turning. 



92 SOH06 from tbe Soutbweet Country. 

There is no creed 

Like human need 
To teach the grace of giving ; 

There is no prayer 

Like tender care 
To teach the love of living ! 



The bended knee, 

It seems to me, 
Is not with service gifted ; 

No blessings rise 

From folded eyes 
Unless the heart 's uplifted ! 



Destroy the chains 

That bind the brains ! 
'T is what we are that saves us ; 

No mere belief 

Can conquer grief 
And all the hate that braves us. 



Tear up the creeds ! 

'T is worthy deeds, 
From hands and hearts out-given, 

Shall put to rout 

Man's dark and doubt, 
And lead him up to heaven ! 



T 



THE CONQUEROR. 

HE man who has found 
All the dreams that he knew, 
Feels the deeds he can do ! 
There is power over pain, 
There is charm for the chain, 
In the hopes he has crowned 

With the garlands of gain ; 
And a giant he stands 
In the mystical might of his heart and his hands ! 

The longings that leap 

From the lips, uncontrolled, 
Are the masters of gold, 

Of the fagots and thrones, 
Of the stars and the stones, 
That the multitudes keep ; 

And they beckon and bring 
All the glories and gifts of the pauper and king. 

With hope in thy heart 

And with love in thy life, 
What is struggle or strife ? 
Not a taunt nor a tear, 
Not a failure nor fear, 
Not a pang nor a smart, 

Shall envenom thee here, 
Shall environ the soul 
That has yielded to love and its happy control. 
93 



94 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

What matters it, then, 

Though the black of the blast 
On thy pathway be cast ? 

In the truth of thy trust, 
In the might of thy "must," 
Thou shalt monarch the men 

With their dreams in the dust, 
And the stars of thy love 
Shall arise in the sky as the stars rise above. 

Who harvests the sheaves 

Of the grain that he sought, 
Follows ever his thought 

Through its throb and its thrill, 
Through its wonder and will, 
And the truth he believes 

Through the errors of ill ; 
And he conquers at last, — 
O'er the future supreme through the might of his 
past ! 

O Life that is long 

On the grief-laden slopes, 
Be thou true to thy hopes ! 

All the dear of thy dreams, 
All the thrill of their themes, 
Shall assemble in song, 

By the joy-giving streams ; 
And the deeds of thy hands 
Shall ennoble the races through all of the lands ! 



T 



IMMORTAL. 

HE life that is lived 

Never dies from the world ! 
On the height of the hills, 
On the rush of the rills, 
Over achings and ills, 

Are its banners unfurled ; 
And it struggles and strives 
Through uncountable lives, 
Till it conquering rolls 
Through the darks and the deeps of unceasable 
souls ! 

The life that is lived 

Has a wonderful power ! 

On the mountains of might, 

On the narrows of night, 

On the black and the bright, 
Are its turret and tower ; 

Its commands have a place 

In the realms of the race, 

And it rules through the years 
All the nations of laughter and peoples of tears. 

The life that is lived 

Has unmeasured extent ! 

95 



96 Songs from tbe 5outbwe8t Country. 

Through the present and past, 
Through the vague and the vast, 
From the first to the last, 

Is it centred and sent ; 
For its miracles reach 
Over silence and speech, 
Till its boundary springs 
O'er the outermost edge of unendable things ! 

The life that is lived, — 

What a masterful thing ! 
How it soars in man's thought, 
In the truths he has taught, 
In the deeds he has wrought, 
Like a bird on the wing ! 
'T is an unsetting sun 
Endless journeys to run, 
And its blessings so hurled 
That a life which is lived never dies from the world ! 



MIND. 

\T O master mine ! Eternal king 

^ ^ Of Cosmos and of Chaos, I 
The awful arts of time defy, 

And all diseases death may bring ; 

Creation wheels her wondrous ways 

Through starry circles vague and vast, 
And age on ages hurries past, 

To me as swiftly as the days. 



dfttnfc. 97 

Before dim Reason thought, I was ; 

Before the first beginnings, I 

Was monarch of the Whence and Why, 
The How and Where, the primal Cause ; 
Before the dreams of Time and Space, 

I ruled the empires of To Be ; 

Extent was measureless for me, 
Eternity my dwelling-place ! 

The great, eternal, mighty Force, 

I reign, I rule, command, compel ; 

In me is Paradise and Hell, 
And 'round me Nature wheels her course ; 
All happiness and Truth I find, 

All Sorrows at my motion fall ; 

The Cause, the Source, the End of all, 
Enduring, wondrous, deathless Mind ! 

An atom of myself, a thing, 

I planted in a lump of clay ; 

It grew to greatness in a day, 
And called itself a man, a king ; 
It caught the lightning, chained thestorm, 

It felled the woods, and walked the waves, 

Explored the skies, dug earth's dim caves,. 
And sought to know my Face and Form. 

Toward me he toils ; his golden age 

Is in the future, not the past, 

For I alone am great at last 
In vacant fool or sapient sage ; 



Songs from tbe Soutbwest Gountrg. 

And upward, onward, shall he strive, 

This atom mine that walks the earth, 
Despising all his humble birth 

And seeking me to learn, and live. 



From farthest brain to farthest brain, 

While suns and stars and systems grow, 
The sovereign One above, below, 

I live, I leap, I rule, I reign ; 

The monarch of all things that are, 
Of all that is and is to be, 
My sceptre leaps with forces free 

From sun to sun and star to star ! 



DREAMER AND SINGER. 

' I "HE world laughed long at his pensive face 

-■• And the wistful gaze of his tender eyes, 
But he knew the glint of a wondrous grace 

And the perfect pleasures of Paradise ; 
And the scenes he saw were so fair and bright 

That the wise men longed for the fond array ; 
For an angel dreamed in his heart by night, 

And a little bird sang in his soul by day. 

The words of his mouth made a music sweet 

That rippled and rang with the notes of glee, 

And sad hosts echoed the strains replete 
With all of their rhythmical rhapsody ; 



©reamer anO Singer. 99 

And he sang a song, till they knew his might, 
Till they kissed his feet on the public way ; 

For an angel dreamed in his heart by night, 
And a little bird sang in his soul by day. 

His years were happy with joys divine, 

And his longings lived in a far-off land ; 
And sweeter than drops of the sweetest wine 

Were the hopes he only could understand ; 
And all the hours of his days were light, 

And all the loves of his life were gay ; 
For an angel dreamed in his heart by night, 

And a little bird sang in his soul by day. 

There are gifts divine that are more than great, 

And prouder than sceptres that monarchs wear ; 
And what to him were the pomp of state 

And the tinselled splendor that glittered there ? 
The sorrows and troubles from him took flight, 

And the tears at his coming fled far away ; 
For an angel dreamed in his heart by night, 

And a little bird sang in his soul by day. 

What mattered it, then, if a ragged coat 

And a broken cap were the garbs he wore ? 
That crusts were his food ? For he sang the note 

Of a tender song, and he wept no more ! 
And we know, we know, that his love was bright, 

That his life was the roll of a roundelay ; 
For an angel dreamed in his heart by night, 

And a little bird sang in his soul by day. 



ioo Songs from tbe Soutbwcst Country. 

And he is greater than czars and kings ! 

The world may praise them awhile in fear, 
But wreathes its laurels for him who sings 

And soothes the anguish of toil and tear ; 
And he is enthroned on Love's far height 

While kingdoms crumble and crowns decay ; 
For an angel dreams in his heart by night, 

And a little bird sings in his soul by day ! 



W 



THE ROSES. 

HAT do the roses know 
Of the noon and the night ? 
What of the dark through which they grow 

Up to the life and light ? 
Above are the stars and the dew, 

Below are the soil and the sod ; 
How it happened they never knew, 

But they sprang from stone and clod ! 

What do the roses know 

Of the shriek and the song ? 
What of the breeze that blesses so, 

What of the gale that is strong ? 
Above are the skies of the bright, 

Below are the seas of the shade, 
And full of beauty by day and night 

Do their hot cheeks flush and fade. 



TLbe iRoaes. io] 

What do the roses know 

Of the dreams that they dream ? 

What of the fancies that spring and flow- 
Forth in a bountiful stream ? 

They bud and they blossom and die, 
They wither and shrivel and fade ; 

Does all they were in the ashes lie 
Where the petals low are laid ? 

What do the roses know 

Of the dead or the dust ? 
What of a life where they shall blow 

Glad as the garlands of trust ? 
Do they at the touch of the hand 

With rapture astart and athrill, 
Feel joys their hearts cannot understand 

That are strong as wish and will ? 

What do the roses know ? 

We are all of the truth ! 
Life that is red in their hearts aglow, — 

Is life of my life, in sooth ! 
The dreams they dream in the dew 

Are dreams that I cannot control, — 
These hopes of mine are the hopes that grew 

In the depths of a rose's soul ! 

What do the roses know ? 

They are peers of the wise ; 
Ever they struggle from earth below, 

Ever they long for the skies ! 



102 Soiujs from tbe Southwest Country. 

They prize the dreams of a darling hope, 
As much as the children of men, 

And here and there on a sunny slope 
1 shall meet them all again ! 



GREED. 

A \ WHEREVER the man upturns the soil, 

Wherever he sows the seed, 
There dwells a monster that mocks his toil, 

And the monster's name is Greed ! 
And year by year, as men garner in 

The harvest they reap in pain, 
The monster sits by the bursting bin, 

And he feasts on the golden grain. 

There is never a home in the world so wide 

That is far from his haunts away ; 
If he shuns the palace with all its pride, 

Yet he enters the hut to stay ; 
And where the race in its sorrow strives 

On the barren heath or hill, 
He claims his armies of human lives 

And his legions of human will. 

He gathers the rose from the rounded cheek 
And the red from the rare young lip, 

And the strongest arm in the world is weak 
At the touch of his finger-tip ; 



©reefc. IQ 3 

And the happy song is a mournful wail, 

And the laugh is a shriek of fright ; 
For the world grows fierce and is thin and pale 

In the awe of his appetite. 

Then Sin with her bitter herbs of grief, 

And Vice with her potions wild, 
With ready promise of long relief 

Win woman and man and child ! 
For what is Virtue when want is near, 

And what is the fairest fame ? 
They are all undone at the doom they hear 

In the shriek of the monster's name ! 

It 's Oh, for the tears that are nightly shed 

When he cometh to claim his own ! 
And Oh, for the curses that heap his head 

Where the millions of men make moan ! 
It 's Oh, for the children that helpless cry, 

For the women that wail and weep, 
A-faint for the crust that his hands deny 

And the crumb that his fingers keep ! 

Then ho, for the hero with shining shield 

And a spear like the lance of God, 
To whose hard blow shall the monster yield, 

And the curse of the toiler's sod ! 
A thousand ages of glory stay 

For the Knight of the Noble Deed, 
For the strong, brave heart who shall come and slay 

The monster of human Greed ! 



PLAYING HORSE. 

T TP and down the pathway lined 
^ With sweet grasses intertwined, 
Where the orchard's bud and bloom 
Fill the air with fond perfume, 
Rides a hero brave and bold 
As the fabled knights of old, 
On a charger that he deems 
Wondrous as his wondrous dreams ! 

Firm he sits the reins to clasp 
More securely in his grasp ; 
Swift the spurs descending clank 
Deeply in the tender flank ; 
Cruel swings the savage whip, 
Pliant to his finger-tip, 
And his charger gallops gay 
'Round the wonder world away ! 

Forth he journeys fast and far 
Where the gnomes and fairies are, 
And he gladly enters in 
Lands where happy dreams begin ! 
Lingers he a little while 
Where the pleasures bow and smile ; 
104 



flMavtiui Iborse. 105 

Then away around the ring ! 

' T is the land where Fun is king ! 



Oh, the happy birds that throng 
All the ways he hastes along, 
And the gorgeous flowers that blow 
Over every land below ! 
And each little boy, with curls 
Dear and dainty as a girl's, 
Stands with playthings waiting for 
Every little visitor ! 



Tired, he ceases from his quest ! 
Horse and rider both may rest ! 
Now the steed that galloped gay 
Munches at the brambled hay ; 
But the rider, never still, 
Restless in his wish and will, 
Dreams a greater dream and then 
Calls himself a man of men ! 

Ah, my little dreamer, we 

All are dreams in some degree, 

And we learn as on we go 

Dreams are dearest things we know ! 

Blest if over blooming meads 

We may ride our gallant steeds, 

Till, life ended, o'er the hill 

Forth we venture dreaming still ! 



A GLAD PLAYFELLOW. 

HTHERE »S a happy little fellow 

■*■ I am sure you 'd like to meet, 
For his ways are all so pleasant 

And his manners are so sweet ; 
And his greetings are so hearty, 

And his words so joyous, too, 
That I know you 'd run to meet him 

If he *d show his face to you. 

There was never yet a person 

Ever looked into his face, 
Ever touched his rosy fingers, 

Ever saw his joyous grace, — 
That would want to be without him, 

That would leave him far or say 
He is not the best playfellow 

That has ever come his way. 

Oh, his hair is glad and golden, 
And his eyes are brightly blue, 

And his features are as handsome 
As the fairies ever knew ; 

And his lips are happy ever 
In the music that he sings, 
1 06 



B <3lao playfellow. 107 

For he finds the perfect pleasures 
In the most imperfect things. 



He is most accommodating, 

For whate'er your age and size 
He can make the things about you 

Always pleasant, if he tries ; 
And whatever wish you cherish 

He will make your fortune fit, 
Till you clap your hands delighted 

At the gladsomeness of it ! 

It is true that you may miss him 

As you wander down the years, 
But you 're pretty sure to find him 

In among the toils and tears ; 
For in unexpected places 

Where you never thought to see, 
He is oftenest appearing 

With his happy face of glee. 



But I know if you should meet him 

You will find him quite so fair 
That your heart can ne'er forget him, 

But will follow everywhere ; 
It will follow him forever 

Through the worlds below, above, 
For his dwelling-place is Pleasure ; 

And his name ? — his name is Love ! 



THE ON-MARCH. 

O, Progress is no swift release from error, 
- L/ No sudden sun that banishes the night ; 
Through weary cycles, Man, the burden-bearer, 
Gropes in the dark and struggles toward the 
light. 

'T is not in death-throes where the battle rages, 
And nations heap the winrows of their slain, 

That Freedom leaps across the darkened ages, 
And Truth unchains the bondmen of the plain. 

And from the fields where armies meet despoiling, 
No love-born carols hush the cries of wrong ; 

But, through the yearning years with anguish toiling, 
Man makes himself the instrument of song. 

Lo, where the tireless thinker works and wonders, 
Where Man and God in fellowship unite, 

There leaps the Thought to majesty that thunders 
Through endless ages with unceasing might ! 

Some seer, enraptured at his dreams of duty, 
In grave speech frames a precept or a law, 

And years long after mankind lives in beauty 
The gorgeous glories that the prophet saw ! 
108 



Gbe ©ns/Hbarcb. 109 

Some teacher from his closet tells the nations 
The words of Truth, the Deeds that men should 
do ; 

And they through sorrows and deep tribulations 
Toil fiercely on to prove his lessons true ! 

Man's Mind is greater than his brawn or bullet ; 

His Thought far vaster than his Labor stands ; 
Men's hopes are higher than the world, and rule it, — 

Their hearts are stronger than their helpless 
hands ! 

Development unwearied outward courses 

Through deepest darkness with unresting tides ; 

Brain-throbs and heart-beats are the deathless 
forces 
That lead us, lift us, where the day abides. 

Still up and onward, up and forward, surges 
The toiling race, near-drawing to the goal, 

While Truth with whips of righteous anger urges 
The craven fool to prove a Master Soul. 

Quote not the past ! Its regal courts were rabble, 
A puny herd of worse than worthless things ; 

The world moves upward from their childish bab- 
ble— 
The tireless toilers are the only kings ! 

Yea, Man himself, the fruit of long endeavor, 
Grows from the smallness of his ancient youth, 

And shall, at last perfected, stand forever 

An angel shaped and fashioned to the Truth ! 



THE DREAMER. 

T T E dreamed a dream ; and far his hopes 
-*■ -*- Went roaming o'er the mountain slopes 
They climbed the summits coldly tall, 
They crossed the high horizon's wall, 
And lingered where the morning star 
Illumined royal realms afar ; — 
Men shook their heads : " He is unfit 
For life," they said. What mattered it ? 
He dreamed a dream. 

He dreamed a dream ; and in his soul 
He heard mysterious music roll ; 
He saw sweet visions weirdly rise 
Before the longings of his eyes, 
And knew the good of Man eclipse 
The joys of God's Apocalypse ; — 
They said : " He has nor wish nor will " ; 
He heeded not ; what matter still ? 
He dreamed a dream ! 

He walked the ways in rags that felt 
The horrid homes in which he dwelt ; 
And now and then in lonely days 
He sang some simple roundelays, 



Gbe Dreamer. 

Until the hungry, hardened throngs 
Knew something of his tender songs ; — 
" On foolish things his heart is set," 
The thousands said. No matter yet ! 
He dreamed a dream ! 



And lo, he lost his dream, and died, 
To find it on the other side ! 
And o'er his coffin bent a few 
With hearts of grief and eyes of dew, 
Till they a vision saw, and sought 
The music that he tamed and taught ; 
And year by year a grateful throng 
Bows low to bless the Man of Song 
Who dreamed a dream. 



Ah, life is more than tears or toil, 
Its wages more than sin or soil, 
And from its holy hands are shed 
Diviner gifts than blows or bread ; 
Who dreams a dream is greater far 
Than crowds and crowns and kingdoms are, 
And stars and skies and systems roll 
To palm and praise the mystic soul 
That dreams a dream ! 



THE STARS. 

C TARS and the seas of the night ! 

Stars and the deeps of the dawn ! 
And the dim of the dusk is athrob with the light 

For the ships that are sailing on ! 
What if the hurricanes blow ? 

What of the billow r and blast ? 
The harbor waits, and the sailors know 

They shall anchor in port at last. 

Life and the power of its pain ; 

Life and the doom of its death ; 
And the ghastly ghosts of the wandering slain 

With their foul and pestilent breath ! 
What if it sicken and fall ? 

What if it wither and die ? 
It only goes to the All in All 

In the worlds of the Bye and Bye. 

Love and the joys of its trust ; 

Love and the gold of its go in ; 
And the agonies fierce when its blossoms are dust 

And its raptures have perished in pain ! 
What if it wander and weep ? 

What if it murmur and moan ? 
The heart of the Master is never asleep, 

And the lover shall come to his own. 



Zbc Xittle JBov'6 1bair. 113 

Man and the might of his hope ; 

Man and the curse of his care ; 
And the footsteps that falter and fingers that grope 

In the dim and the dusk of despair ! 
What if he stumble and fail ? 

What if he perish, in sooth ? 
The lights are above him ; at last he shall scale 

All the hills of the true and the Truth ! 



Stars and the seas of the night ! 

Stars and the deeps of the dawn ! 
And the dim of the dusk is athrob with the light 

For the ships that are sailing on ! 
What if the hurricanes blow ? 

What of the billow and blast ? 
The harbor waits, and the sailors know 

They shall anchor in port at last ! 



THE LITTLE BOY'S HAIR. 

T T IS mother and I cut the little boy's hair ! 
-*- ■*■ Hair that grew where the years begin, 
Bright and sunny and fondly fair 

As the baby dreams it was tangled in ! 
And tears came into our eyes that day, — 

Tears for the baby that left us then, — 
For oh, we knew when he went away 

He never would come to our home again ! 



*i4 Songs from tbe Soutbweet Country. 

His mother and I cut the little boy's hair ! 

Twisted curls that the fairies made, 
Hung by his brows in the breezes where 

The blessed feet of the children played ! 
It woven was with the fancies true, 

The hopes that ever with childhood dwell, 
And held the joys that our baby knew, 

The low, sweet laughter he loved so well ! 

His mother and I cut the little boy's hair ! 

Faces grave with a grief sublime, 
Eyes so guilty they would not dare 

To look aloft as we did the crime ! 
Our hands upgathered the golden glow, 

They clutched the glories miraculous ! 
What vandals we ! But he could not know 

The deep emotions that mastered us ! 

His mother and I cut the little boy's hair ! 

"You," we whispered, "are now a man ! " 
Mourning deep in our hearts the rare 

Sweet grace that grew where the years began 
And all that day there were tears that shone 

Within the lids of our tender eyes, 
And soft we wept to ourselves alone 

Where none could enter and sympathize. 

His mother and I cut the little boy's hair ! 

Life is longer than children know ; 
Day by day there is more of care 

Than heaped the hearts of the Long Ago ! 



Gbe OLtttlc 2)eaD JBabg. 115 

For these are the curls that we cut off then, 
As dear as the boy with his dreams of Good, 

Who laid them by for the toils of men, 
In the long-lost years of his babyhood ! 



THE LITTLE DEAD BABY. 

HP HERE 'S a little dead baby just over the way, 
For a little white ribbon hangs down by the 
door, 
And the house that was happy with music and play 
Is encompassed with gloom and rejoices no more ; 
And the shutters are closed and the curtains are 
drawn, 
And the bird by the window is songless to-day ; 
For the bright of the blossoms went out at the 
dawn 
With the little dead baby just over the way. 

There 's a little dead baby just over the way, 

And a little white coffin all hidden from view ; 
And a poor little mother kneels lowly to pray 

By the beautiful face of the baby she knew ; 
But the Lord of her soul with a gladness unguessed 

To her heart gives a joy that shall anguish allay ; 
And her faith lives as pure as the blooms on the 
breast 

Of the little dead baby just over the way. 

There 's a little dead baby just over the way, 
And a desolate look never noticed before ; 



n6 Bonc,6 from tbe Soutbweet Country. 

And the children are silent, and tearfully say, 

" The baby won't laugh at our pranks any more ! " 
And the old people walk with a sorrowful tread 
As the tears of regret down the faded cheeks 
stray, 
For they worshipped each hair on the bright curly 
head 
Of the little dead baby just over the way. 

There 's a little dead baby just over the way, 

And the hushes of awestricken silences throng 
Through the jest of the crowd and the merriment gay 

With the rapture and revel of laughter and song ; 
And the world bows its head with a sorrowful face 

Where the stars of compassion their glories array, 
While the angels come down full of love to the 
place 

Of the little dead baby just over the way. 

Oh, the little dead baby just over the way ! 

There 's a Presence that clothes it with dearness 
divine ; 
And I feel in my heart the omnipotent sway 

Of the grief I should know if that baby were 
mine ! 
And I mourn with the mourning, and ask from 
above 
That the Father will comfort when sorrows dis- 
may, 
While my soul is a fountain that flows full of love 
For the little dead baby just over the way ! 



RENUNCIATION. 

T/' ISS me, love, before you leave me ! 
-*■ *- Here the cherished hope shall end ; 
I shall bravely, though it grieve me, 

Lose the lover in the friend ! 
Forward where your longings lift you ! 

Nay, I '11 never bar the way ! 
May the joyous breezes drift you 

To the harbor lights of day ! 

Kiss me, love, before you leave me ! 

To your heart once fold me fast ! 
Though the future may deceive me, 

I shall treasure still the past ! 
What shall matter wintry weather ? 

Memory is deathless youth ; 
We shall tread the years together, 

Down the dewy slopes of truth ! 

Kiss me, love, before you leave me ! 

These poor tears of mine are naught, 
Yet this parting shall bereave me 

Of the dearest things I thought ; 
But nor will nor wish may falter ! 

Shall the wooed be less than wife ? 
Here I lay upon the altar 

All the longings of my life ! 
117 



n8 Songe from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Kiss me, love, before you leave me ! 

These are only foolish themes ! 
May the price I pay achieve me 

Crowns for all your hopes and dreams ; 
But remember what was given : 

One sad woman slew her love, 
Faced her fate, and left her heaven, — 

You shall gain the heights above ! 

Kiss me, love, before you leave me ! 

Here the cherished hope shall end ; 
I shall bravely, though it grieve me, 

Lose the lover in the friend ! 
Forward where your longings lift you ! 

Nay, I '11 never bar the way ! 
May the joyous breezes drift you 

To the harbor lights of day ! 



"THERE, MY HEART, BE STILL A 
MINUTE." 

*"pHERE, my heart, be still a minute ; 

-*■ Don't you worry so ! 
There 's a song if we begin it 

Everywhere we go ! 
What if days of happy boy-time 

Never come again ? 
We shall find the perfect joy-time 

Down the ways of men ! 



"Gbere, mg Ibeart, JBe Still a Ainute." 119 

When the darkest hours are over, 

Morn with fingers bright 
Shall the sweetest blooms discover, 

Grown within the night ; 
Never ruin, but entwined it 

Vines of sympathy ; 
Never cloud, but stars behind it 

Lit the tender sky ! 

Yours and mine is friendship stronger 

Than the world receives ; 
You and I are comrades longer 

Than the world believes ; 
You rejoice in all my gladness, 

Every laugh I know ; 
Let me banish all your sadness, — 

Don't you worry so ! 

Let your lips forget to quiver ; 

Brush the tears away ! 
Never hour but was a giver 

Of the glad and gay ! 
What 's the use of getting gloomy, 

When the skies are blue ? 
All the meadow lands are bloomy 

For the likes of you ! 

There, my heart, be still a minute ; 

Don't you worry so ! 
There 's a song if we begin it 

Everywhere we go ! 



izo Songs from tbe Soutbvvest Coming. 

What if days of happy boy-time 

Never come again ? 
We shall find the perfect joy-time 

Down the wavs of men ! 



A RAMBLE. 

\\TE wandered with fond feet beyond the town 
* And all the stifled streets of dust and 
smoke, 
Until we rested in the country fields. 

It was a place where angels might have walked : 
A rounded vale of solitude and song, 
That weary souls of longing fondly dream 
When fainting with the fevers of their toil 
And bending with the burdens of the years. 
Green slopes of summer grasses, kindly wreathed 
With speckled lawns of clovers red and white, 
Spread their soft carpets on the bounding earth 
Where playful sheep and lowing cattle grazed. 
An infant stream with limpid waters low 
Crept slowly through the mossy margins wide, 
And singing kissed the pebbles with kind lips 
That lingered on the ripples. Far above, 
The ancient, gabled mill with throbbing wheels 
Beat sombre music from the careless waves. 
A brooding elm hung over, in whose shade 
The sultry hours of sleepy silence wane, 
And all the heart's dear yearnings are at rest. 



TUnforgetttng. 121 

Birds in the scattered trees companionless 

Heaped lullabies upon the tender air, 

While wide-winged swallows touched the water's 

breast 
And twittered in their merry ecstasies. 
Some lonely quail with cheerful whistle called 
His absent comrade from the bearded field. 
While over all the arching sky of blue 
In rapture caught the valley in its arms 
And smoothed the tiny wrinkles from its brow. 

And there we two, the friends of other years 
When life was in the distance of our dreams, 
Lay on the grasses all that summer day 
And talked again of joys we used to know, 
Of longings crushed and tender hopes that died, 
And years that fled as dreams go down the night ; 
Till shadows brought the dewy breath of eve 
And twilight drove us from the lovely scene, 
With such fond pleasures ringing in our hearts 
As cheered our bosoms in the times of yore, 
When boyhood looked beyond his foolish ways 
And dreamed of glory in the years to be. 

UNFORGETTING. 

T7ORGET thee, dearest ? Till the tide 
■*- Forgets the orb that lifts the sea, 
My heart shall leap with naught beside 
Abiding thoughts of thee, — of thee ! 



122 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Until the rose forgets the dew 

That cools and feeds with fine control, 

My soul shall know, as once it knew, 
The raptures of a kindred soul. 

Till longing sleeps and love is dead 
And darkness falls and griefs destroy, 

My heart shall treasure all we said 
And hold our happy hopes of joy. 

Through all the days I wander where 
Thy presence makes a Paradise ; 

Through all the nights I slumber there 
Beneath the heavens of thine eyes. 

Though suns should leap across our ways 
And starry systems intervene, 

My soul would break each bond that stays, 
And scale the heights that rise between. 

What if a thousand worlds upheave ? 

The lover's heart will find his own, 
And, though a storm-tossed absence grieve, 

He clasps her, and is not alone. 

Each moment I caress thy face, 

Each moment feel thy hands in mine, 

Each moment in thy close embrace 
I thrill with kisses thrice divine. 



XLbc rtlMnor dborD. 123 

And all the hours from dark to dawn, 
And all from dawn to dark, I see 

Thy darling face, and wander on 
Enchanted paths that lead to thee. 

Nay, dear, think not I can forget ; 

The days may hasten o'er the hill, 
The nights may come with darkness, yet 

My heart shall hold thee, — hold thee still ! 



THE MINOR CHORD. 

A sweet bird sings 
In prison shadows where the griefs are sorest, 

And gladly rings 
The wondrous music of his native forest ; 

But all his songs 
Breathe evermore some minor strain of sadness, 

And through them throngs 
No more the old free melody of gladness ; 

For something sobs and sighs 

In every song he tries. 
His lay seems quite the sweetest ever heard, 

But oh, the bird, the bird ! 

A singer sings, 
Far from the days of childhood glad and golden, 

Fantastic things 
The angels taught him in the cycles olden ; 

But anguish dwells 



124 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

In every strain his throbbing bosom utters, 

And sorrow swells 
In every note that from him falls and flutters ; 

In every song he knows 

Sob life's unceasing woes. 
They say his harmonies forever linger ; 

But oh, the sad, sad singer ! 

There are no songs 
Praiseworthy save the singer's heart has known 
them ; 

Their truth belongs 
Alone and only to the lives that own them ! 

In every note 
Of touching tenderness that overmasters, 

Divinely float 
The voiceless anthems of unnamed disasters, — 

In every perfect strain, 

Some hope that died in pain ! 
Do they forget, who crown the ones that bring them, 

The prices paid to sing them ? 

IN THE NIGHT. 

f^\H, the stillness and the sweetness of the night ! 
^^^ How the soul arousing rises from the 

mysteries of dreams, 
Ere the beautifying brightness of the morning's 
purple light 
Through the golden vales of glory like a flooded 
river streams ! 



In tbe IWtgbt. 125 

Then the hand of some glad angel with a tender 
touch unbars 
All the fairy fields of fancy with unfading blooms 
bedight, 
And we wander there as happy as the twinkles of 
the stars, 
In the stillness and the sweetness of the night. 

In the stillness and the sweetness of the night 
Comes a holier inspiration than the days can ever 
know, 
And seraphic shapes of shadow in their glory- 
garments white 
Summon memories of music from the lyric Long 
Ago; 
Oh, the gates of heaven open, and the happy hosts 
of joy 
Soothe the heart away from sorrow with their 
melodies of might, 
Till the years are young forever and the old man is 
a boy, 
In the stillness and the sweetness of the night ! 

In the stillness and the sweetness of the night 
Faintly sound the witching murmurs of a thou- 
sand eerie things 
From the thrilling throats of darkness on the forest- 
haloed height 
And the leaping lips of laughter where the rest- 
less river sings ; 



126 Songs from tbe Soutbwcst Country. 

Oh, the voices of the ages God's prophetic lessons 

teach 
To the heavy heart that hungers for the rhapsodies 

of right, 
And the secrets of the silence lisp their hopes in 

happy speech, 
In the stillness and the sweetness of the night ! 

In the stillness and the sweetness of the night, 
Oh, the soul breaks out of prison in a glorified 
release 
From the fetters of its weakness and the bondage 
of its blight, 
To the blessed benedictions and the plenitudes 
of peace ! 
And on wings of joyous rapture, far among the 
great and good, 
How it soars with love and longing to its ancient 
palace bright, 
And beholds cherubic wonders only known and 
understood 
In the stillness and the sweetness of the night ! 



SAVE THE BOYS. 

CAVE the boys ; they make the treasures ! 
^ Vain is all thy strain and striving, 
Worthless all thy narrow measures 

Made to further thrift and thriving. 
Souls are priceless ; of thy brother, 

Of his sons, thou art the keeper ; 
Save the boys ; endeavors other 

Are unworthier and cheaper. 

Save the boys ; they make the nations ! 

Haste the marches up and onward ; 
Banish all the fierce temptations 

From the paths we travel dawnward ; 
Laws can break each galling fetter ; 

Love can lift from shame and scorning , 
Save the boys ; and purer, better 

Men shall reach the Gates of Morning. 

Save the boys ; they make the future ! 

Hearts and lives and hopes are pleading 
For the death of sins that nurture 

Curse and crime for hosts succeeding ; 
Millions low in prayer are craving 

Good which fills the earth with leaven ; 
Save the boys ; and in their saving, 

Save the human race for heaven ! 

Save the boys ; they make the ages ! 
Conquer Vice with Virtue's rigor ; 
127 



128 Sonus from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Battle brutishness like sages ; 

Swing the scythe of Truth with vigor. 
Duty, now ! Be coward never ! 

Time shall tell thy fame in story ; 
Save the boys ; the Great Forever 

Looks to thee and them for glory ! 



TAKE IT EASY ! 

HPAKEiteasy! What's the use 

Of your haste and hurry ? 
Life can offer no excuse 

For the waste of worry ; 
When you get to mixing things 

Hope becomes a bubble, 
For there 's never heart that sings 

O'er the tears of trouble. 

Take it easy ! He that frets 

Never knows the pleasures, 
And the richest poorest gets 

In love's golden treasures ; 
If to sadness you are cold, 

She from you will sever ; 
Treat her kindly, and the old 

Jade will stay forever ! 

Take it easy ! Life 's a crown, — 
Like a monarch wear it ; 

If a burden weight it down, 
Happy be and bear it ! 



flfoy Xove. 129 

Drink the nectars from the skies, 
Which the gods bequeath you ! 

And in rapture you shall rise 
Leaving earth beneath you ! 

Flowers of beauty bloom and bless 

All the ways you wander, 
And the songs of blessedness 

Chime from over yonder. 
Don't get blue ! The world is bright, 

Beautiful, and breezy ; 
Life is but one long delight 

If, — you take it easy ! 



MY LOVE. 

T CRIED with a cry to my love ; 
A And my soul with a jubilant thrill 
Strode over the oceans between her and me, 

And over the mountains of ill ; 
But never an answer arose from her lips, 

And never a joyous reply 
Came out of the distance and tenderly hushed 

The terrible sob of the cry. 

I prayed with a prayer to my love ; 

And high on the wings of its hope 
My heart hurried far through the valleys of time 

And over eternity's slope ; 
But she uttered no word where the silences lay 

To banish my yearning despair, 



130 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

And lost in the seas where the surges are vast 
Were the throbs of my desperate prayer. 

I sang with a song to my love, 

Under the stars and the night, 
And the feet of my song o'er the ways of the world 

Sped swift in their longings for light ; 
And when she drew near in the purples of dawn, 

It seemed I had known her so long, — 
This heart of my heart and this soul of my soul 

That heeded my summons of song ! 

Not the terror of cry, not the pathos of prayer, 

Did she hear in the silences wide, 
But she hastened away at the carols of song 

With her jubilant feet to my side ; 
I know not, I know not, the land or the sea, 

The mountain or stream she had known ; 
I know not the path that she came, — but I know 

That she came, and is only my own ! 

A HEALTH. 

\70UR health as you leave us ! 
*■ We know what you think, — 
Yes, that is man's Babel, — 

No wonder you shrink ! 
'T is right to be happy ? 

Aye, truly, I hold, 
And life has more in it 

Than laurels and gold. 



ILoneltness. 131 

Then up with life's cup, — 

Here 's a bumper to gladden ! 

May the sorrows that dance 

On the highways of chance 

Never gather so near as to sadden ; 

Wherever you linger, wherever you stray, 

May roses and lilies entangle your way ! 

It is joy that I wish you, 

Unclouded by care ; 
It is crowning of purpose, 

Fulfilling of prayer ; 
It is all that you hope for 

And all that you deem 
The love of your longing, 

The dear of your dream ! 

Then up with life's cup ! 

There is wine in the chalice ! 
Let us rouse us a laugh 
As we cheerily quaff 

Like a thirsty old king in his palace. 
Your health, your good health ! 'T is enough 

for your worry 
To capture the pleasures as onward you hurry. 

LONELINESS. 

P\EAD she is, and the glowing embers 
-*— ^ Fancy fired in the olden days 
All are ashes, and life remembers 
Few, indeed, of her words and ways. 



132 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

It was eve and the year was vernal, 

Soft the breeze, and the sky was fair, — 

Hearts are hungry and love eternal, — 
Oh, the tints of her face and hair ! 

Slow we walked with our happy faces 
Down the deeps of the darkened gloom, 

And our souls in their love-embraces 
Wedded there in the orchard bloom. 

It was nothing ! A hand-clasp only, 
Just a kiss in the shadows low ; 

But my heart when she went was lonely, 
And I wept in my sorrow so. 

It was nothing ! But from me never 
Lifts the touch of her tender lips ; 

Through my veins there will romp forever 
Thrills that fell from her finger-tips ! 

It was nothing ! We parted, — parted. — 
Ne'er to meet in the world again ; 

She with love of the good glad-hearted, 
I so sad with the griefs of men. 

Dead she is, and she lies out yonder 
Cold as the gravestones are and white ; 

But forever our souls shall wander 

Hand in hand through the fields of light ! 



IN MEMORY OF EUGENE FIELD. 

(Died Nov. 4, 1895.) 

AIT ELL, bear the empty cage away ; 

* * Our lips with wondrous woes are white ; 
The bird that warbled all the day 
Has left us lonely in the night. 

He sang of fields and orchard blooms, 
And groves that gave delightful shade ; 

Of perfect flowers whose fond perfumes 
Fell where delighted children played. 

The raptures of the homely joys 
Romped in his tender roundelays, 

And fun and frolic like a boy's 
Beside him wandered all his ways. 

Glad children paused from play to hear 
The pipes melodious that he blew, 

And Age with happy step drew near 
To know forgotten dreams anew. 

His music waked the smiles that leap 
From joyous deeps of angel eyes, 

And held the hopes that happy creep 
From hearts as pure as Paradise. 
i33 



134 Songs from tbe Southwest Country. 

The race has lost a fondest friend, 

The children one that laughed with them, 

The countless hosts in sorrow blend 
Their sobs to sound his requiem. 

Yes, bear the empty cage away ! 

Our lips with wondrous woes are white ; 
The bird that warbled all the day 

Has left us lonely in the night. 



A SUPPLIANT. 

/^~\ GOD ! When Dreams of Good are dead, 
^^ And buried low they lie, — 
When Hope is gone and Love is fled, — 
Then let me die ! 

The heart may sing o'er faded flowers, 

Beside the bursting leaf ; 
But tears unceasing sob the hours 

Of Winter's grief. 

The soul with lofty courage weds 

Where mountains meet the sun, 

But where the prairie's level spreads 
It sinks undone. 

The night with all its wail and woe, 
Bleak winds and bitter skies, 

Forgets the darkness if it know 
The morn shall rise. 



/ifootberbooo. 135 

Life undismayed can feel the thorn 

And walk the plains by night, 
If blossom, mountain-side, and morn 

Be still in sight. 

When dreams of better things are dead, 

And buried low they lie, — 
When Hope is gone and Love is fled, — 

Then let me die ! 

MOTHERHOOD. 

TV /T OTHERHOOD ! Motherhood ! 
■*•*-*■ More than any brotherhood, 
More than any other hood 

Underneath the skies ; 
Let me sing a song to you, 
Glad and true and strong to you, 
Till the stars belong to you, 

Earth and Paradise ! 

More than glees and gratitudes 
Are your sweet beatitudes, 
Born in Heaven's latitudes, 

Where the joys abide ; 
Angel hearts that treasure you 
Ever come to pleasure you, 
Bringing gifts that measure you 

With the glorified. 

Then a happy song to you 
While the joys belong to you 



136 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

And no shade of wrong to you 

Floods the days with tears ! 
Motherhood ! Motherhood ! 
More than any brotherhood, 
More than any other hood, 

Laughing through the years ! 

THE COMMONPLACES. 

A H, the childish commonplaces ! Like the old 
*^*- familiar faces, 

How they peep forever outward from the skies of 
Long Ago, 
And their rhapsodies of laughter follow fondly on 
and after 
All the winding ways of glory that our fairest 
fancies know ! 

Oh, the happy commonplaces ! How remembrance 
interlaces 
In the sombre soul of shadow all the shine it 
ever knew, 
Till the yearning years of sorrow from their blessed 
brothers borrow 
All the raptures that with magic throw a halo 
over you ! 

And the joyous commonplaces ! How their music 
madly races 
Through the heart and soul aweary, and the joys 
abiding brings ; 



Gbe Commonplaces. 137 

For from out the gates of golden, from the cycles 
bright and olden, 
Comes the angel of Jehovah with the cherubim 
and sings ! 

And the careless commonplaces ! Full of laugh- 
ter's gladdest graces, 
How the murmurs of their voices fall across the 
ways we go, 
And the carols they are singing, rich and royal 
chorus bringing, 
Soothe the bruises of the battle and the weary 
wounds of woe ! 

Oh, from you I cannot sever ! And forever and 
forever 
I shall drink your magic music, gaze upon your 
forms divine, 
Till again with glad embraces we shall meet, O 
Commonplaces, 
And shall wander on unwearied where the stars 
of heaven shine ! 



JOY ABIDES. 

T^HE Troubles are feathers that flee 

■*■ O'er Pleasure's unchangeable sea, 
The bubbles that darken the wave, 

The brambles that tangle the wild ; 
But Hope is a blossom that gladdens the grave, 

And Life is the laugh of a child. 



138 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

The Sorrows that sadden us here 
Like mists of the morn disappear ; 
For Joy with her light and her love 

Fills all of the world with her glees, 
And mortals in ships that are launched from above 

Sail over eternity's seas. 



Then sing all the lullabies long 
That Pleasure is crooning in song ! 
They silence the clatter and din 

That echo where error has trod ; 
If Hate be as old as the demons of sin, 

Yet Love is enduring as God ! 



THE HOURS. 

A A/"ITH bandaged eyes beside the way I stood, 
Where one by one in swift procession 
passed 
The muffled hours and tossed their gifts at me, — 
Crowns, kingdoms, stars, and what they all contain. 
They mocked my hands that beat the darkness 

there, 
Reclaimed their bounties, and with savage scorn 
And taunts of bitterness went o'er the hills. 
But all was not denied me ; as I clutched 
In deep anxiety of groping hands, 
I caught some ribbon, rose, or wisp of hair, 
Some screed of song, some sentence of the heart, 



TnnDtemageD. 139 

Some child's fond plaything sanctified with love, 
But mourned for crowns my blindness could not 

gain. 
And when my heart was weary with its years, 
Then Wisdom came and made mine eyes to see ; 
And lo, my trinkets were the keys of life, 
More precious than the stars for which I wept ! 



A : 



UNDISMAYED. 

S long as the Spring with her blossoms 
Bends over the beautiful lea, — 
As long as the bird with its music 
Sings all of its carols for me, — 
My soul for its longings shall struggle, 

My Hope battle on with a will, 
Till the blossoms of Spring are all faded, — 
The bird and its music are still ! 



As long as the song of the singer 

Sounds over the valleys of earth, — 
As long as the lips of the lover 

Are red with the raptures of mirth, — 
My heart shall renew its endeavor, 

My life in its longing shall trust, 
Till the song of the singer is weary, 

And Love is a dream of the dust ! 



ALAS, MY OWN HARP! 

A LAS, my own Harp ! In the shadows of night 
'T is our fortune to sing all the numbers we 
know, 
And murmur in darkness the songs of delight 
That shall soften our sadness and weaken our 
woe. 
But cease not thy strains ! We forever will pour 
From the deeps of our days, full of yearning and 
youth, 
Though Fame should encircle our brows never- 
more, 
Sweet songs that are happy with honor and truth ! 

Let the strains of thy measures unceasingly flow, 
Though marred in their music by murmurs of 
mine ; 
Should Glory ne'er crown them, 't will cheer thee to 
know 
Love hath blest with her roses these carols of 
thine ; 
Then sway the sweet strings ! Let the melodies 
move 
With the raptures that never seem harsh or un- 
couth ; 
Some heart full of longing shall listen and prove 
How great are the songs of thine honor and truth ! 
140 



JSencatb tbe pines. 141 

FAITH. 

T IKE a comet strange and wild, 

■"— ' Through the trackless regions vast 

Reels the Soul from ages past, 
God's companion, Heaven's child ; 
Nothing tells it of the great 

Planets where it rolled and whirled ; 
Nothing knows it of the fate 

That has flung it on the world. 
Here it wanders dark or dim 

Till it creeps apart alone, 
Past the far horizon's rim 

Through eternities unknown ; 
But He brought it from the deep, — 
He will all its wanderings keep, 
And it never once shall move 
From His law or from His love ! 



BENEATH THE PINES. 



DENEATH the Pines on drowsy wings, 
*-* My sleepy hammock sways and swings, 

While through half-open, half-shut eyes 

Creep lazily the far-off skies 
And all the world that sobs and sings. 

From Music's feather-throated kings, 
A perfect chorus rising rings 



142 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

And soothes me with its lullabies, 
Beneath the Pines. 

O happy hours ! An angel brings 
Glad visions of divinest things, 
Where half asleep I hear the cries 
Of Nature's anthems gently rise, 
And dream of never-fading springs, 
Beneath the Pines ! 



IN LOTUS LAND. 

T N Lotus Land the lazy beams 

-*- Fall slothfully, the dawdling streams 

Creep sluggishly from hill to sea, 

And sweet oblivion sleepily 
The soul from toil and care redeems. 

No guilt or guile of sinful themes, 
No glare of Passion's lurid gleams, 
Turns innocence to misery, 
In Lotus Land. 

O Life, where love unsated seems, 
Where savage wrong triumphant teems, 
Where all unwelcome things that be 
Bring deathless tears and woes to thee, 
Forsake thy cares and clasp thy dreams 
In Lotus Land ! 



Xtfe's GrtnttE. 143 

AN EPITAPH. 

A BOVE the monumented dead 
■**■ I stooped and read : 

" This was a king ! 

His empire was the latest : 
He ruled himself ! " 

Let minstrels come and sing ! 

Let monarchs call him greatest ! 
Not power nor pelf, 
Not glory gathered from an earthly thing, 

O man of might, can ever closely draw 

So vast a rebel to the rule of law ! 

Thou wast a prince whose far dominions spread 

Before the living and beyond the dead ! 



LIFE'S TRINITY. 

T IFE sinned in childhood, and with anguish sore 
■■— ' Crept slowly outward through a hopeless way ; 
Sweet love and laughter joyed its lips no more ; 
The Sword of Flame barred Eden's Yesterday ! 

A Saviour comes from mangers of the Beast, 
With modest bearing, clothed in coarse array, 

Is without resting-place, esteemed the least, 
Thorn-crowned and crucified : He is To-day. 



i44 ♦ Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

The tomb yields glories of God's endless power ; 

Life knows guilt lost and hope bestowed again ; 
The night fades out, and morning hour by hour 

Opes wider still To-morrow's gates for men ! 

FORSAKEN. 

OVE one day bade us both good-bye,— 
■*— ' The old, old Love that we knew so well ! 

Flashed with anger he could not quell, 
He would not list to our lonely cry. 

Oh the sorrow, the sob, and sigh ! 

The ghastly horror and hate of hell ! 
Love one day bade us both good-bye, — 

The old, old Love that we knew so well ! 

Ah, we never may scale the sky 

Where the darling dreams of our fancies dwell, 
And we may never with rapture swell 

Anthems caroled by hosts on high : 

Love one day bade us both good-bye ! 

BUD AND BLOOM. 

/^V STREAMS that change to bud and bloom, 
^-^^ That bless the desert lands, 
Your loving waters find their doom 

Beneath the burning sands, 
But worlds of green and grasses grow 
Where'er your benedictions flow ! 



TLove anD Deatb. 145 

So may the currents of mine hours 

Yield only gifts of love, 
Till where they flow the fruits and flowers 

Of gladness rise above : 
What though the desert be their doom, 
O streams that change to bud and bloom ! 



THE MUSICIAN. 

O HE plays ; and from her finger-tips 
^-' Falls music little children know ; 
She sings ; and from her happy lips 
Leaps laughter of the Long Ago ! 

Ah, singer, there is that in thine 
Which breathes a music half divine, 
And leaping in thy strains there seems 
The voice of long-forgotten dreams, 
Till life forsakes the ways of men 
And laughs a careless child again ! 



LOVE AND DEATH. 

A SHAPELESS Form through shining ways 
■** of light 

Sped swiftly, far from Hate and Horror flown, 
And where Love ruled the armied angels white 
Dropt his dread spear and climbed the golden 
throne. 



146 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

" Hence, Monster," Love commanded. " Nay, not 
so," 
Death answered him ; " my brother, thou shalt 
share 
Thy realms with me." And, sceptre-laden, lo, 
Transformed he stood, the fairest angel there ! 



DEATH. 

WHERE meet the Bounded and the Boundless 
Good, 
A weary Soul that earth's deep anguish knew, 
Faint in the falling shadows dimly stood 

And prayed the gates to let him enter through. 

A thin, white Hand, scarce visible, with might 
Turned the vast hinges, and he walked alone 

From Man the Mote to God the Infinite, 

Comrade of Truth and heir of the Unknown. 



THE DEAD SINGER. 

SWEET Music was his Church and Creed ; 
He knew her chimes and loved to ring them ; 
The Muses, his good friends, indeed, 

Taught him their songs and how to sing them ! 



JBfrtb's /llMracle. 147 

Who doubts that he shall know beyond 
His brothers all without endeavor, 

And in their chorused anthems fond 
His happy heart shall sing forever ! 



THE ANGELUS. 

" I "WO peasants, homeward from the fields of toil, 

Hear holy music in their hasty quest : 
Their longings leave the sorrows of the soil, 
And sweetly wander in the vales of rest. 

Not theirs the Knowledge that is Guilt and Grief ! 

Not theirs the doubt that drives their God away! 
Behold ! In trustfulness of fond Belief, 

They bow their heads and lift their hearts to 
pray ! 

BIRTH'S MIRACLE. 

"F^ROM God's great mountains in the vast Un- 
■■■ known, 

A halting soul moves helpless down the slopes ; 
On Time's broad portals pauses, lost and lone, 

And knocks for entrance into human hopes. 

Then Love with fondest travail, in her soul 
The awful anguish that his life shall know, 

Clasps firm his fingers and with calm control 
Leads him in terror to Man's ways of woe ! 



148 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 
TWO PRAYERS. 

"BREACH me to live, O Wisdom!" Thus in 

*■ youth 

Prayed I, ere Yearning to Resolve had grown ; 
" Enwreathe my brows with garlands of the Truth, 

And lead my footsteps through the far Un- 
known ! " 

" Teach me to die, O Wisdom ! " Thus in throes 
Of pain implored I, after life's long quest ; 

" Lull my tired longings into sweet repose, 
And hide my soul in everlasting rest ! " 

AMBITION. 

\ 17 HERE 'S your glory, fickle Fame? 
* * Here 's the service that I brought you ; 
Here 's the worship ; can I claim 

Nothing for the deeds I wrought you ? 

I 'm so weary ; toil 's distressing ; 

Sick, I scout your foolish snares ; 
Yet I 'd rather have your blessing 

Than the crown a monarch wears ! 

LOVE. 

TlfHO knows the life of the tree ? 

* * Who knows the life of the rose ? 
Who knows if the life that is moving me 
Is the life of the bud that blows ? 



Gbe Ablnstrel's power. 149 

Whatever it be, I shall call it Love 

That came to a world of woe, — 
That came from the stars of the skies above 

To live in the stars below ! 



THE POET. 

A IX ORE than the Prophet and the Priest, 
•*■'-*■ Than Soldier, Sage, and King, 
He brings to men through fast and feast 

The truths that seraphs sing ; 
He rules enthroned o'er Sword and Crown ! 

In God's Most Holy Place, 
He calls His kindest blessings down, 

And meets Him face to face ! 



THE MINSTREL'S POWER. 

(~~* LORY and power and place, 
^-* And the gifts they bring, 
Yield to the gladness and grace 

Of the hearts that sing, 
Taught by the stars and the suns that rise 
Music that murmurs of Paradise ; 
For the minstrel knows 
Truths that only to him unclose. 



i5o Songs from tbe Soutbweet Gountrg. 

LIFE. 

r I ^O all but wisdom and the wise, 

-*■ Life is a beggar lean and old, 

Who wears large hunger in his eyes 

And shivers with the cruel cold. 
But no ! She reigns a princess fair, 
With cheery cheeks and happy hair, 
With laughters leaping from her lips, 
And joys upon her finger-tips ! 

TRADITION. 

A GIANT, many-sided, old, and great, 

Bestrode the highways where the nations 
grope, 
Defied the sons of men with swords of hate, 

And drove them backward from the hills of hope, 
Till one insurgent rebel smote him sore ; 
And lo, the Giant terrified no more ! 



THE CREATION OF ART. 

A SHAPELESS Chaos void and lifeless lay 
* Before a dreamer in his mighty hour ; 

He breathed his life between the lips of clay, 

And all the empty arteries throbbed with power ; 
Then, leaping at the Master mind's control, 
It stood an angel with its maker's soul ! 



fbeio anD Singer. 151 

GOD'S CHILDREN. 

GOD'S children, Time and Nature, build in sand 
Man's wondrous empires full of wealth and 
might, 
Art's castles reared in playtime's warm delight, 
But quickly scattered with unheeding hand ; 
New races, nations, peoples, — what are they ? 
Mere baubles fashioned in Creation's play ! 



IN A VOLUME OF POEMS. 

CTRANGER, pause where poet sings 
^ Music of divinest things ; 
For, angelic, pure, and fair, 
Something of his life is there, — 
Something of his heart and soul 
Where the wondrous measures roll ! 



HERO AND SINGER. 

r 1 "EN thousand swords in battle strove, 

*■ Ten thousand heroes felled their foes, 
And Glory twines no wreaths above 

Forgotten graves where they repose ; 
One singer sang his toils and tears, 
And lo. he lives through endless years ! 



i53 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 
TO-DAY AND TO-MORROW. 

r I ^ HOUGH narrow, poor, and small, 
■*■ To-day is infinite 

With possibles of might ; 
To-morrow, vast and all 

From Time's great shore to shore, 

Is finite evermore. 



THE DEAD SEER. 

THROUGHOUT the solemn wonders of the 
Night 
And all the gorgeous glories of the Day, 
God's angels with the Wisdom of delight 

Taught him the Truth and told him what to say ; 
Till Mercy called him from the valleys lone, 
And made him Master of the vast Unknown ! 



ONE SAYING. 

/^\NE saying the centuries cherish 
^-^ And treasure again and again : 
Live not in the books that perish, 

But live in the lives of men ; 
For the books shall cease at the set of sun, 
But the lives of men, — they are never done ! 



5elf=dlbaOe. 153 

TO A SINGER I NEVER SAW. 

\\T HAT though we wander life along 
v * Through distant lands and gusty weather? 
The finger-tips of tender song 

Shall link our dreaming souls together, 
And every note I sing shall be 
Sweet echoes of a voice from thee ! 

LIMITED. 

DETWEEN the oceans of the Night, 
*~* Life walks the narrow lands of Light ; 
And o'er the plains of thought and will 

The rivers of existence flow ; 

Men sail the trailing streams, but know 
How little of the seas they fill ! 

TRUTH'S MIGHTINESS. 

'THE sons of might that conquer here 
-*- Win vict'ries not with wild alarms ; 
Truth naked, stript of sword and spear, 
Is greater than a world in arms ! 

SELF-MADE. 

A FAITHFUL soul among the swine-herds 

wrought 
With patient hands, nor dreamed of higher things; 
But lo ! At last the nations found him, taught 
To sway the sceptres of a hundred kings ! 



154 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 
THE DEAD WAIF. 

A HELPLESS one, sin-summoned from the sky, 
■*■*■ A moment lingered in the ways of men ; 
Then God's fond mercy heard its lonely cry, 
And lo, He drew it to his heart again ! 

A PRAYER. 

T7ILL up my heart, O Father, with relief 
■*■ While close I lean for comfort on Thy breast ; 
I, weary child, heart-broken with my grief, 
Creep in the dark and sob myself to rest ! 



DUTY. 

T""\0 thy best deed ! It is not lost 

*-^ Though hid from Glory's gorgeous light ; 

God's altar fires are just as bright 
When one soul worships, as a host ! 



IN DIALECT. 



155 



THE FAITH CURE. 

C PEAKIN' of religen now, 

^ I ain't posted much, en hain't 

Aney idee aneyhow 

'Bout the way they make a saint 
From a sinnin' sort of man 
On the hallylooyer plan ; 
Howsumever, I admit 
It 's a good 'nuff thing to git, 
When a feller 's brimmin' full 
Of the kind thet 's practicull ! 

Now, fer instunce ! Thayre 's ole Bill 

Wimpler in the south of town ; 
Got religen fit to kill, 

Hallylooyered up en down, 
En let off a young cyclone 
Down thayre on his prayin' bone, 
Clar in sight of heaven's throne, 
Sweepin' through the happy skies 
On a shout thet satisfies ! 
Alius wuz a purty good 

Easy-goin' feller through 
Thick en thin of things thet would 

Knock the end-gate outen you ! 
Wuz a blacksmith, Bill wuz ; stout, 
Stouter, too, 'an all git out ; 
i57 



158 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Tall like ; en he wuz a man 
On the spider-legged plan ; 
Could jist hold a hoss, en drive 
Hoss-shoes on him, sakes alive ! 
En when Bill grabbed holt the foot 
Of some mule, en said, " Whoa, brute ! 
Makes no diff'runce whut a fool 
Once wuz thet-air plegged mule, 
He 'd jist bow his head, en lay 
His long ears back thataway, 
Tell ole Bill wuz plum clean through 
Drivin' on the last blame shoe ! 
Mendin' plows en broke machines 
Wuz his main holt, too ; fer he 
Could with wires en tom-fool-ree, 
Fans en flops en shakes en screens, 
With contrapshuns, balls, en springs, 
Make the most awdashus things 
Run by steam er walked by hoss, 
Feller ever come across ! 

Uster loaf with him fer days, 
Meddertatin' on his ways, 
En a sort of fishin' through, 

Jist to find out fer myse'f, 
Whayre his money cantered to, 

En whut laid him on the shelf ! 

Wuzzent feared of work a bit ! 

I kin hear his big anvill, 
Seems to me, a-ringin' yit 



Gbe ffaitb Cure. 159 

'Fore the sun dumb up the hill ; 
Never stopped to eat a bite 
Tell the daytime quit fer night ; 
But fer all, I jist declare, 
Never had a cent to spare ! 
Pore ? Pore don't spell it ! Pore 
Ez a snake, en then some more ! 
Alius crowded him to git 
Groc'ry bills paid up, en yit 
He made lots of money, jist 
Rollin' in, hand over fist ! 
Dident drink ner gamble, ner 
Fool away his substance fer 
Aney bad, ferbidden things 
Made of vain imaginings ; 
But he some way couldent make 
Nothin' fer his pocket's sake, 
But it tumbled out agin 
Faster 'an he stuffed it in ! 

Now, us neighbors wundered some 
(Neighbors will, the best of um !), 
En we talked it kind of out, 
How it all had come about ; 
But not one knowed whut it wuz 
Thet wuz botherin' Bill en — us ! 
But ole Bill one loafin' day, 
Suddent like, which wuz his way, 
Leaked the idee, I tell you, 
Whut it wuz, clean through en through, 
Circus, side-show, concert, too ! 



160 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Sally, — thet 's his wife, — you see, 

One of them thayre womern wur, 
Thinks theyr sick ! How well she *d be 

Somepin' 'ud be wrong with her, 
En thayre 's one dizzease she had, — 
Doctors comin' — mighty bad ! 
So the same of course wuz took 
By the fam'bly pocket-book, 
Tell it wilted like, en wur 
Hunderd times ez sick ez her ; 
Fer she never seemed the wuss 
Of her fits so dangeruss, 
While it shrivelled up so thin 
Nary cent wuz hidin' in ! 

Sally wuz a leetle, short, 
Sawed-off woman, — jist thet sort ; 
Fat ? Like pippins in the fall 

When theyr hearts of meller mursh 
Dangle on the branches tall 

Waitin' fer the winds to sqursh ! 
When I 'd see her waddlin' by 

Swingin' arms both right en lef, — 
I 'm ashamed of it, but I 

Wushed she'd fall en bust herse'f, 
En spill every orful bad 
Blame dizzease she thort she had ! 

Kep' a cubberd full of pills, — 
Patent med'cine git-ups fer 



Zbe jfaltb Cure. 161 

All new-fangled sorts of ills 

No one ever had but her ! 
Ev'ry pad en poultice, too, 

'Lectric things en strings en sich, 
Warranted to pull her through 

From newmowny to the itch, 

Made no diff 'runce which wuz which ; 
But each one 'ud, well or ill, 
Make her sick en sicker still, 
En jist keep her sick ; en she 
Swallered all the theeory 
Thet ole Naytcher 's jist a school 
Run fer some drug-mixin' fool, 
En she put dependence in 
Doctor bills en medicine ! 



I hain't no seerious dissent to 
Doctors ; sometimes they will do, 
En you like to have 'em come 
'Twixt you en millennium, 
En jist yank you, sick en sore, 
From the happy, golden shore ; 
But ef kep' about the place 
All the time, they fall from grace. 
When they git acquainted, — well, 
Then they ruther lose theyr spell 
Over me ; the plegged smell 
Of theyr clothes en things about 
Puts my stummick all to rout 
Like the stuff they ladle out ! 



i62 Songs from tbe Southwest Country. 

Sally, though, found much delight 
Keepin' doctors thayre in sight 
Clar from mornin' ontell night, 
En she swallered down theyr stuff 
Like she couldent git enough ; 
So she went on quite a spell 
Doct'rin' up en gittin' well, 
En relapsin' back agin 
Whayre she fust had started in ! 
Never seemed to gain but she 
Lost it all, en 'en 'ud be 
VVuss 'n ever ; nuthin', though, 
Dang'russ like, fer all her show 
En her mopin' signs of woe ; 
But the neighbors' fokes, you know, 
Like they will, jist shook theyr heads, 

Speckilatin' thet she 'd die 
Sure some day, en be ez dead 's 

Mackerel dried up, by en by ; 
En they went en worried on 

Whut 'ud Bill do in thet case 
With them childern when she 's gone 

Yander to thet healthy place ; 
En some feller 'lowed with her 

Jist removed, thet Bill 'ud shore 

Do lots better 'an before, 
Whutsoever might occur ; 
En perdicted thet the town 

Ez a health-reesort 'ud gain 

Ef she 'd break life's brickie chain ;- 
Reppytation had run down 



Gbe jfaitb Cure. 163 

Orful low en fur en wide 
'Cause of illnesses she tried ; — 
En Jim Summers said he thort, 
When she reached the heavenly port, 
It quite doubtful ef she wur 
Happy in them mansions fur 
Without somepin ailin' her ! 

Wull, one summer, when she got 

Sort of risin' in her head, 
Bile er somepin, like as not, 

En wuz railly sick, they said, 
She jist had a rousin' spell ! 

Kep' Bill dancin* day en night 
Puttin' hot things on her, tell 

Blistered so she wuz a sight ; 
Had a high-jinks time ; jist walked, 

Wrung her hands, en cried en cried, 
Yelled en bellered out, en talked 

Days en nights of suicide ! 
En we thort, the way she tore, 
Thet she 'd kick the bucket shore ! 

In the neighborhood thayre stayed 
Ole Miss Watkins, — an ole maid 
Er grass-widder,— don't know which ; 
But the fokes said she wuz rich, 
En on thet account could do 
Aneything she wanted to 
Without people talkin' ; she 



164 Songs from tbe Soutbvvest Country. 

In religen, too, you see, 
Differed from the rest of us 
In her faith rediculuss ! 
She believed with nary doubt 
Sickness alius comes about 
From our meanness croppin' out, 
En good people sich as her 
Never sick ner porely wur ! 
I remember when she took 
With newmowny onct, en lay 
Fer a week or two, they say, 
With a all-fired scarey look, 
Tell her feechers sot ; — thet 's why 
Ever'body said she 'd die ; 
But she said she wuzzent sick, — 
Jist a leetle tired wuz all, — 
En stuck to it ! Wouldent call 
Aney doctor in, ner do 
Things thet people hurry to, 
When they trump Death's leadin' trick ; 
Womern bawled aroun' a spell, 
En she jawed 'em like, ontell 
All at onct she got up well ! 
En the womern wuz thet mad, — 

Said they shorely knowed she wur 
Jist pretendin' thet she had 

Some dizzease a-holt of her ! 
En went on so over it 
Some won't reckergnize her yit, 
Er speak to her hearty loud 
When they meet her in a crowd ! 



Cbe ffattb Cure. 165 

Now, when Sally got thet bile 

In her head, Miss VVatkins come 
With her sort of dusty smile, 

Runnin' resk of martyrdom ; 
Tolt her ef she *d jist believe 
Nuthin' ailt her, she 'd receive 
Lovin' faith, thet comes en brings 
Health en healin' in its wings, 
En so forth ; en Sally she, 

So deestracted with the pain, 
Kind of took it in, you see, 

En she axt her to remain 
En to tell her out en out 
Things she never heerd about ! 

Now, thayre wuz thet very day 

Feller at Miss Watkins home 

Thort like she did ; en he come 
Down to Wimpler's right away, 
Bein 's Sally done invite 
Him to cure her bile up right ; 
Wuz from some place, — don't know whayre, — 
Wichita, er som'ers thayre : 
Wuz a priest, — er teacher, — er 
Somepin womern hanker fer ; 

He jist talked to Sally good, 
Rubbed her head and prayed with her, 

Tell the whole blame neighborhood 
Called him looney en clean gone, 
Tryin' his fool doctern on 
Thet thayre woman ailin' so, — 



166 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Sich a hopeless case, you know ! 
Fer we knowed, through thin en thick 
Sally's trade wuz bein' sick, 
En we thort she 'd work it some 
Spite of faith en Christendom ! 

Wull, sir, she jist swallered down 
All he tolt her ; en her bile 
Busted in a leetle while 
Arter thet ; en all the town 
Laughed a lot, en people said 
She 'd got wuss things in her head 
'An her bile had ever been ; 
But ef she 'd git somepin in 
Thet 'ud do fer medicine, — 
Somepin thet wuz ruther cheap, — 
It might he'p her out a heap, 
En Bill's pocket-book 'ud git 
Full salvation outen it ! 

Ever see the mirth en might 

Of a happy proselyte ? 

Thet wuz Sally ! Tolt it quick 

She wuz done with bein' sick, — 

She had overcome the sin 

Thet had brought dizzeases in ; 

En she said, en so it seemed, 

Sickness wuz a thing she 'd dreamed,- 

Thet she wuz not sick afore, 

En she wouldent be no more ; 

So she th rowed her bottles all, 



XLbc ffattb Cure. 167 

Full en empty, pads en strings, 
Pills en plasters, wires en springs, 
Sich as purfic saints condemn, — 

In a basket in the hall ; 

En she toted the display 

To the garden right away, — 
Dug a hole en buried 'em ! 

Said ez close to faith she 'd stick 

Ez she had at bein' sick ! 

Things went forrard purty fast, 
Soon as thet thayre bile wuz past ; 
Arter Sally got her fill 
En wuz cured of ev'ry ill, 
Her religen tackled Bill 
All to onct, en he give in, 
Sayin' he wuz sick of sin, — 
This wuz more 'an medicine ! 
Bill wuz shorely happies' one 
Ever lived sence time begun 
When he got religen thayre 
Ez he knelt en tried a prayer ; 
Like enough he wuz assured 
Thet his pocket-book wuz cured, 
En the doctor-bills 'ud quit 
Grabbin' dollars outen it, — 
En I hold it, at them rates, 
Cheapes' cure in seven States ! 

Saw Bill jist the other day ; 
He 's accumulatin' wealth 



1 68 Songs from tbe Soutbweet Country. 

Sence they all learnt thataway 

How to keep theyrselves in health 
Bought a farm en paid the cash 

One year arter thet thayre bile 
En theyr sickness went to smash ; 

Wears a rich, contented smile, 
Drives a kerridge big en fine, 
En wears clothes ez good ez mine. 
Whut ef no one else concurs 
In thet faith of his en hers ? 
It is plain to all about 
Thet his pocket-book is stout, 
Healed ferever on thet day 
Sally found the faith-cure way ! 

Ez I said I say agin, 

Speakin' of religen now, 
Cure fer sickness en fer sin, — - 
I ain't posted much, en hain't 

Aney idee aneyhow 
Whut is done to make a saint 
From a sinnin' sort of man 
On the hallylooyer plan ; 
But it 's shorely somepin fine 
When you git the genyouine 
Payin' kind, thet 's easy took 
En will he'p the pocket-book, — 
Fillin' all your longin's full 
Of the sort thet 's practicull, 
En jist eaches fer the spot, 
Like the kind thet Sally got ! 



OLE JIM HANKINS. 

f^LEJim Hankins,— you knowed him- 

^-^ Beas'ly awk'erd, tall, en slim, 

Like the Lord had made him rough 

Outen secon'-handed stuff, 

En 'en seein' he 'd played hob 

Never finished up his job ! 

Uster live 'way up the crick 

Whayre the woods en bresh is thick, 

In a leetle cabin throwed 

Over thayre along the road. 

Traded hosses all the time, 

En he 'd work his jaws en spout 
Haff a day er more about 
Some ole hoss he thort sublime ! 
Aw, you knowed him ! Blamedest one 

Ever lived sence time begun ' 

Took the yaller janders some 

When the tradin' season come, 

En he yallered on en on 

Tell his ellerkence 'uz gone, 

En he couldent talk a bit ; 

Seems to me I see him yit 

Weepin' like his heart 'uz wrung, 

'Cause he couldent wag his tongue, 

Like a easy-run machine, 
169 



i7o Songs from tbe Soutbvvcst Country. 

'Bout the hosses he had seen. 

Don't remember ! Wull, I swow ! 

Why, I see the feller now ! 

How he lived, ez some men do, — 

Ole hoss trader through en through, — 

En the people fer en wide 

Come to see him when he died ! 

Wush you could a-knowed ole Jim 
'Fore the janders tackled him ! 

Ganglin'-like en sort of slow, 
He a-hitchin' 'long 'ud go, 
Er he santered 'round en lit 
His ole pipe en puffed a bit : 
Swallered smoke ontell it riz 
Through thet peaked nose of his ; 
Hawked en hawked, en 'en he 'd spit, 
Tell he 'd wet en kind of spile, 
In his free en easy style, 
'Bout a front yard full of ground 
Thet wuz layin' thayre around ; 
Er he 'd take his yaller twist 
Of terbacker in his fist, 
En sock in his teeth, en pull 
Tell his mouth wuz brimmin' full ; 
Then he 'd work his nimble jaw 
Up en down acrost the chaw 
In his happy, keerless way, 
Fer the likes of haff a day ! 
Uster be the bigges' fun, 



©le 3tm Danfttns. J 7i 

Jist to set en watch him squirt 

Juicy mouth-fulls at the dirt, 
Like some long, infernal gun 
Would its buzzin' bullets throw 
At the breast-works of a foe ; 
Whew, but he could spit it hard ! 
Hit a bull's-eye twenty yard, 
En wuz never knowed to miss 
When he squoze them lips of his ! 

Wush you could a-knowed ole Jim 
'Fore the janders tackled him ! 

Uster dress the queeres', too ! 
Wore the bigges' size of shoe,— 
Number ten er thayreabout. — 
With his toes a-stickin' out ; 
Said he 'd turned 'em out fer grass 
With the horned, four-footed class ! 
Round-a-bout en overhalls 

Kivered shins en sunken breast, 
En his hick'ry shirt wuz best 
To pertect him from the squalls, 

Ragin' storms 'en winds thet blowed 

On the wintry ways he knowed ; 

En upon his head of hair, 

Shaggy-like, he 'd alius wear 

His ole cap of coon-skin hide 

With the fur on outer side, 

En the striped'st tail you 'd find 

Stickin' proudly out behind, 



172 Songs from tbe Soutbweet Country. 

Bobbin' up en down on high 
Like a banner in the sky ! 

Never had a gallus on, 
Ner a collar ner a tie ; 

Said his natchurl way 'd be gone 
Ef he 'd wear them horrid things, — 
Frills en furbelows en strings, — 
Thet the han'some fellers git 
When they spark en spruce a bit ; 
En his whiskers long en rough 
Suited him jist good enough, 
Ef terbacker juice got in 
Ez it wundered down his chin ! 

Wush you could a-kno\ved ole Jim 
'Fore the janders tackled him ! 

Beat'nes' feller ever seen ! 
Alius puzzled my machine 
How ole Hankins got so smart 
In the tradin'-hosses art. 
Fokes called him a kind of fool 

Thet in manners couldent shine, — 

But in his peculeyer line 
He wuz born to run en rule ; 
Never had a word to say 

When jist common things en sich, 

Very pore er very rich, 
Come around his lonesome way ; 

Never knowed jist which wuz which ; 
But when some new hoss wuz by, 



©le Jim Ifoankins. 173 

Spread his mouth en let 'er fly ! 
Whut he knowed about a hoss, 

Hosses' ages, ways, en looks, 

Would a-filled a dozen books 
No man ever come across ! 
Never seen him downed er beat 

When you took him in his line, 

Fer a man had best resign 
When he tried to work a cheat 
On ole Hankins, 'bout the worth 
Of the hosses of the earth ; 
En regardin' his own trade 
He wuz alius thayre, — en stayed ! 

Wush you could a-knowed ole Jim 
'Fore the janders tackled him ! 

But he had a heart ez kind 

Ez the womern folks, en wide 

Ez the wants onsatisfied 
Thet upon our paths we find ; 
Nary kid in all the land 

But a-shoutin' loud 'ud run 
Fer to grab him by the hand, 

With a heart as full of fun 
Ez a — millon is of juice 
When a feller lets it loose ! 
Sacks of candy en sich things 

Fer which babies raise a row, — 
Tops en marvels, knives en strings, — 

In his pockets wuz, somehow ; 



174 Songs from tbc Soutbwest Country. 

People alius welcomed Jim 
To theyr homes en honored him, 
Like he wuz a king of might 
Thet wuz fetchin' 'em delight ! 
None thayre wuz but he would do 
Level best to pull 'em through, 
En they alius praised en blest 
Whut he did, like all possest ! 
Carried widder womern flour, 
Wood, en vittles, by the hour, 
En wuz like a daddy to 
Orphan kids the country through. 
Never saved his money, though, — 
Fellers like him don't, you know ! 
Never keered fer pride er pelf 
Ner a copper fer hisself, 
But the best man happ'nin' round 
On the top side of the ground, — 
Give the last blame cent he had 
Jist to make some feller glad ! 

Wush you could a-knowed ole Jim 
'Fore the janders tackled him ! 

Led a sort of lonesome life, 

Ez some fokes remarked of Jim ; 

Never found the stripe of wife 
Thet 'ud jist agree with him ; 

Though the older settlers say 
Thet when he wuz but a boy 
Clean chuck-full of purfic joy, 



©le Jim Ibanfeins. 175 

He 'd a sweet heart glad en gay, 

But she pined away en died, 

Leavin' him onsatisfied, 

En through all the seasons grum 

His pore heart a vacuum ! 

No relations of his own, 

Walked the ways thet he had known, — 

Cows, ner pigs, ner other fokes ; 
Fer he alius lived alone, 

Chawed terbacker, told his jokes ; 
Took things jist ez easy thayre 
Ez he could most aney whayre, 
Like a 'coon of highes' type 
When the roas'in' ears is ripe ! 
His ole dawg en hoss wuz all 

Thet he keered to have about, 
En he kep' them in his call 

Jist to sort of he'p him out 
When he got to feelin' blue 
En not knowin' whut to do ! 
But at feller-mortals he 
Drawed the line, ez all could see, 

Though he never harmed a man 
Fer ez I have ever heerd, 
En he never wuz afeerd 
Of his shadder, ner could be ; 

Fer he took the gospel plan, 
En he made hisself as good 
Ez he wushed his fellers would, — 
Jist ez good ez good could be, 
Ez he alius seemed to me ! 



176 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Countig. 

Wush you could a-knowed ole Jim 
'P'ore the janders tackled him ! 

But when Jim got sick in bed, 

En ole Death with floppin' wings 
Hovered all around his head, 

En the darkes' kinds of things 
Come around whayre he wuz spread, - 
Seemed to me the earth en sky 
'Ud be blackened by en by ! 
Saddes' sight you ever seed, — 
Railly made my ole heart bleed, — 
When he rared up kind of weak 
On his elbow, fer to speak, 
En he said : " I never keer 
How the Lord may treat me here, 
But it strikes me ruther bad 
En it makes me sort of sad, 
'Cause I 've got to go away 
Whayre the juice-harps alius play, 
Whayre no bosses trot before, 
En hoss-traders trade no more ; 
But ef I could trade agin 
'Fore I leave the trails of sin, 
I could pass my checks, en know 
Work wuz over here below ! " 

Wull, sir, when he once got through, 
All the people thayre jist cried, 

Bellered out en blubbered, too, 
Like the whole creation 'd died ; 



Zhe JBanfcs of Zuvkey IRun. 177 

But I — stepped — right up — to — Jim — 
Knowin' whut he wanted most ; 

Traded hosses thayre with him 
'Fore his consciousness wuz lost 

(Made ten dollars ; only time 

Jim got euchered on a dime !), 

En acrost the river he 

Peaceful like en quietly 

Waded through the worters deep, 

Like a youngster gone to sleep ! 

En ef heaven is over thayre 

Whayre them angel bein's air, 

I 'm jist shore 't wuz made fer Jim 

En all fellers good ez him ! 

Wush you could a-knovved ole Jim 
'Fore the janders tackled him ! 



THE BANKS OF TURKEY RUN. 

T IKE a thousen birds of brightness from the isles 

^-^ of summer seas, 

Rickollections full of gladness come with songs en 

lullabies, 
En I listen to the carols thet with gentle voices^roll 
Full of tenderness en beauty down upon my weary 

soul ; 
Fer thayre 's one thet keeps a-singin' with a song 

thet 's never done, 
En I see the bendin' willers on the banks of Turkey 

Run ! 



178 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

En agin I be a youngster with a youngster's foolin' 

dreams, 
With his highfalutin' notions en his fiddle-faddle 

schemes 
With the laughin' en the cryin', with the sorrer en 

the joy, 
Thet is jumbled up together in the bosom of a boy ; 
En agin my airly fancies in a fairy loom air spun 
Underneath the dancin' shadders on the banks of 

Turkey Run. 

En agin I be a school-boy with the other merry lads, 
When Joe en Jerry, Bill en I wuz only leetle tads, — 
When a half a dozen marvels en a kivered ball wuz 

worth, 
With a knife of Barlow pattern, all the treasures of 

the earth ; 
En the soundin' sort of thunder from a poppin* 

kind of gun 
Sot our faces all a-giggle on the banks of Turkey 

Run. 

It 'ud tickle aney feller jist to see the solemn look, 
When the master wuz a-watchin', thet we fastened 

on the book ; 
But the mischief stickin' in us, like pertaters in a sack, 
It wuz never hard to empty when the teacher 

turned his back ! 
O, the paper wads we tumbled thet 'ud weigh about 

a ton, 
In thet crazy-cornered school-house on the banks 

of Turkey Run ! 



Zbc JBanfcs of GurfceE IRun. 179 

How we uster chase the robins en the rabbits in 

the woods, 
How we gethered bloomin' posies in the sighin' 

solitudes ! 
How we wundered all the medders in our roamin's 

o'er en o'er, 
How we teetered in the branches of the beech en 

sycamore ! 
Er we watched the rompin' minners ez they rassled 

in theyr fun, 
While we nearly bust a-laughin', on the banks of 

Turkey Run ! 

How we uster go a-fishin', when the day wuz git- 
tin' late, 

With a bent pin fer a fish-hook en a fish-worm fer 
a bait ! 

With a leetle line of cotton en a hazel fer a pole, 

How we sought the softes' places by the wides', 
deepes' hole ! 

How we tee-hee-ed at the nibbles, caught the fishes 
one by one, 

With the bigges' kind of prowess, on the banks of 
Turkey Run ! 

When the sun wuz burnin' shavin's in the heatin' 

stove of June, 
En the clock upon the mantel wuz a-knockin' off 

the noon ; 
When the beams in bunches blistered as they never 

did afore, 



x8o Songs from tbe Soutlnvest Country. 

En the sweat wuz drippin', droppin', from the 

mouth of every pore, 
How we skipped acrost the medders, how our swim- 

min' wuz begun 
In the cool en crystal waters 'tween the banks of 

Turkey Run ! 

O, the smilin' days of childhood ! O, the loudly- 

laughin' years ! 
When contentment brings the moments nary trace 

of toils er tears ! 
When the pleasures jine the longin's en the fairy 

fingers roll 
All theyr heaps of angel music in upon the blazin' 

soul ! 
O, my Joe, en Bill, en Jerry ! Trustin' comrades, 

you wuz won 
Whayre my bare feet brushed the grasses on the 

banks of Turkey Run ! 

O, them airly ties air busted ! But I offen wait en 
weep 

Whayre the pleasures of my boyhood in theyr leetle 
cradles sleep, 

Rocked by angel hands of glory full of gladness 
onexpressed, 

Tell theyr eyes air soothed to slumber by the lul- 
labies of rest ; 

Yit I sometimes like to wake 'em, jist to see theyr 
foolish fun, 

Back through all the dismal shadows, to the banks 
of Turkey Run ! 



Gbe JBanfcs of GurfceE IRun. 181 

En alas ! Thayre wuz another ! She wuz fairer 

than the rest, 
En she alius had a hearin' fer the wushes of my 

breast, — 
Alius wuz a chunk of sunshine en a piece of quiet 

glee, 
Alius had a smile of welcome en a tender word fer 

me ; 
En without her wuz no shinin', en of happiness 

wuz none 
Rompin' through them days of childhood on the 

banks of Turkey Run. 

O, her home wuz in a cottage whayre the mornin'- 
glories hung, 

En the airly birds of Aprile with theyr sweetes' 
music sung ! 

Thayre wuz roses 'round her winder, thayre wuz 
roses 'round her door, 

Thet wuz stickin' full of blushes, but they seemed 
to blush the more 

When her eyes wuz seen a-peepin', en her cheeks 
shone like the sun 

From thet cozy leetle cottage on the banks of Tur- 
key Run ! 

Many en many a time we wundered in the grassy 

medder-land 
With our wishes thayre together en our longin's 

hand in hand ; 



182 Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

How we dreamed about the future, when the world 

should give me fame, 
En when she would be thrice noble to be worthy 

of my name ! 
Thus we dreamed en thus we fancied ; others might 

my boyhood shun, 
But I found her kind, my sweetheart, on the banks 

of Turkey Run ! 

But the times have been a-changin' sence them airly 

years of joy 
When she wuz jist a leetle girl en I a leetle boy, — 
When Joe en Jerry, Bill en I, together wuz at play, 
With our hearts ez light ez feathers every minute of 

the day, 
En at twilight sunk to slumber tell the mornin' wuz 

begun 
In the gloomy, silent forests on the banks of Turkey 

Run ! 

Bill en Joe have gone a-rovin' on a fortune-huntin' 
quest 

Through the silver mines en Injuns in the mount- 
ings of the West ; 

But the janders come to Jerry with a solemn sort 
of call, 

Tell they painted him ez yaller ez a punkin in the 
fall; 

En to-day I saw his tombstone ez it glittered in the 
sun 

Over in the leetle churchyard, on the banks of 
Turkey Run ! 



Cbe JBanfes of GurfceE IRun. 183 

En, alas, my precious sweetheart ! Like a posy- 
blossom white 

Did she slowly fade en wither, tell her spirit took its 
flight ! 

Like an angel into heaven did she slowly, calmly 
creep, 

Tell her lovely life wuz over en her longin's went 
to sleep ; 

En the tollin', tollin' church-bells dropt the dirges 
one by one 

Ez we laid her by the wilier on the banks of Turkey 
Run ! 

Thayre a leetle cross of marble marks the silent, 
sacred shade 

Whayre the blossom en the beauty of my ole sweet- 
heart is laid ; 

En the summer has a sadness thet is cryin' through 
the years, 

En my heart is full of sorrer en my eyes air full of 
tears ; 

Fer I 've alius had a failin', sence her friendship 
fust I won, 

Fer thet lovin' leetle maiden, on the banks of 
Turkey Run ! 

But them days air past ferever in the years of Long 

Ago, 
En a wishin' to be wealthy has enraptured Bill en 

Joe ; 
Death has taken jerry ; only I, of all the boys, 



184 Songe from tbe Soutbweet Country. 

Am remainin' to remember all them airly angel 

joys; 
But to-night I see theyr faces ez they peep in full of 

fun, 
En agin we 're boys together, on the banks of 

Turkey Run ! 



MORALIZIN'S. 

XHAYRE 'S nuthin' in the world thet 's haff 

So full of comfort as a laff, 
En nuthin' like a healthy grin 
To make a feller glad agin ! 

It ain't the weepin' sort of chap 
Thet goes a-groanin' when the crap 
Of wheat is provin' kind of small 
En corn gits frost-bit in the fall, 
Who never finds a thing amiss 
Er gits the bigges' hunks of bliss ! 

I uster know a feller-man 
Thet seemed to foller sich a plan ; 
Fer it wuz his besettin' pride 
To keep hisself onsatisfied, 
En nuthin' ever come en fit 
Eggsackly ez he wanted it. 
When purfic joys wuz standin' by, 
He 'd jist go off alone, en try 
To stuff the sweet en shinin' days 
With sorrers all contrairy ways ; 



/Ifcoralt3tn'0, 185 

En when the times wuz purty tough, 
It seemed he couldent cry enough, 
But magnified his leetle keers, 
En wushed he wuz a bar'l of tears, 
Close by the sea, to tumble in 
En never find hisself agin ! 

He alius stuffed his place fer brains 
A-heapin' up with woes en pains, 
En had a pile of his own sense 
A-savin' up fer Providence ; 
Fer he had plannin's mighty nice, 
En could a-give the Lord advice 
About the way to hold the strings 
En git the purfic run of things ! 

But somehow fellers sich as him 
Have chances thet is kind of slim 
At findin' in these narrer years 
A han'kerchief fer all theyr tears ; 
Fer in the purty strains of song 
Thayre 's alius notes a-goin' wrong, 
En summer showers have alius growed 
A mud-hole in the smoothes' road. 

'Cause somepin goes a leetle bad 
Hain't aney reason to be sad, 
For thayre is heerd a thousen songs 
To every dozen of our wrongs, 
En it makes trouble deeper yit 
To bawl en blubber over it ! 



1 86 Songs from tbe Soutbvvest Country. 

A man had better laff en grin 
En fetch the pleasures back agin, 
When life is lookin' kind of black 
En loads git heavy on his back, 
Fer things air shore to have theyr way 
Whatever he kin do er say ! 

To gether up the joys thet bless 
These human days with happiness, 
En larn to take things ez they come, 
Has alius been the bigges' sum 
Thet ever made a mortal wet 
His throbbin' brain with hones' sweat ; 
It 's sort of strange, but yit our keers 
Git leetler with the passin' years, 
En rale old fokes air apt to find 
Theyr discontentments quite resigned ; 
Fer him thet knows the blessed art 
Of garnerin' pleasures in his heart, 
Gits happy, tell he thinks he must 
Jist sure en sartin go en bust, 
Too joyous fur to keep en hold 
The laffs none ever bought fer gold ! 

A feller mussent hope to find 
Things jest a'cordin' to his mind, 
Fer naytcher with her star en sun 
Wuz shorely made fer more 'an one, 
En number seven shoes won't suit 
The natcherl size of every foot, 
En whut '11 make a dozen glad, 



'ffore TiatllEum TKttrit a ;JBoofe. 187 

Ez like ez not '11 make one sad ; 

But fer myse'f I calkilate 

Thet man is master of his fate ; 

En well I know fer man en boy 

This world is heapin' up with joy, 

En all we do to git enough 

Is, jist grab han'fuls of the stuff 

En cram our longin' bosoms full 

Of gladness irresistabull, 

Tell him thet laughs en grins the best 

Gits bigger blisses 'an the rest ! 



'FORE WILLYUM WRIT A BOOK. 



F' 



l ORE Willyum VVilkins writ a book, 
We alius called him Bill, fer short, 
En hardly give a secon' look 

At him beyant the common sort ; 
Fer he wuz one of us, en we 

Jist never thort he 'd ever do 
Some big, oncommon thing, en be 
Renownin' all the country through. 

I met him fust one rainy night 

When fast I rid my ole hoss Dick 
Kersplash to town with all my might, 

En brung the doctor purty quick ; 
En when we got back, in her lap 

My wife wuz holdin' him, by zook ! 
A most onlikely leetle chap, — 

'Fore Willyum writ a book. 



Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

I knowed him when he uster be 

A leetle freckled cuss thet wur 
Same ez the boys belonged to me, — 

No purtier ner likelier ; 
With britches rolled up, fixed complete, 

En ole straw hat no pup 'ud hook, 
En big stone-bruises on his feet, — 

'Fore Willyum writ a book ! 

But now he 's got a great big name, — 

Bill 's growed to Willyum mighty quick, 
En with the purty gal called Fame 

They say he 's gittin' orful thick ; 
But he ain't happier now instid, 

Than when fer city ways he shook 
The home thet smiles ez smile it did, 

'Fore Willyum writ a book ! 

He wears a long-tail coat, en curls, 

En tall plug-hats, en spotted ties, 
Talks through his nose at painted girls 

Thet wear gold glasses on theyr eyes ; 
But I jist know his soul don't sing 

Ez glad en free ez when he took 
The cows to pasture in the spring, — 

'Fore Willyum writ a book ! 

En some fool college 'way down East 

Has doctored him an LL.D., 
En all sich fol-de-rol, — at least, 

Jake Johnson tells the same to me ; 
I s'pose he hardly knows the fokes 

He uster, 'fore us he forsook 



" TIClbcn tbe TRoas'tn^Ears is plentg." 189 

To dawdle 'round with city blokes, — 
'Fore Willyum writ a book ! 

They say them big bugs do him proud ; 

He hobbies with the good en great, 
En jist enthooses every crowd 

Comes out to hear him speckilate ; 
But somehow I can't picture him 

'Cept as a boy down by the brook, 
A-fishin' in the shadders dim, — 

'Fore Willyum writ a book ! 

En should I meet him som'ers now, 

Ole times 'ud pore my bosom full 
Of them ole things, en on my brow 

Romp glories irresistabull ; 
With quiverin' lip en teary lid 

I 'd grab his hand with happy look, — 
Shout " Howdy, Bill ! " as shout I did 

'Fore Willyum writ a book ! 

"WHEN THE ROAS'IN'-EARS IS PLENTY." 

TALK about the joys of winter ! Whut 's the 
fun of foolin' round 
With the posies dead en buried, en the snows upon 

the ground ? 
When the wind 's a-tossin' blizzards in a most dis- 

tressin' way 
Tell you have to set a-straddle of the fire-place all 
the day ! 



igo Songs from tbe Soutbwest Country. 

But I tell ye life 's a-livin' when the summer grows 
the grass 

Over all the nooks en crannies whayre a feller's feet 
kin pass, 

En the whole world seems of heaven but a half for- 
gotten type, 

When the roas'in'-ears is plenty en the worter- 
millons ripe ! 

Roas'in'-ears is best of eatin', though not very much 

fer style, — 
Shuck an armfull fer yer dinner, sot 'em on en let 

'em bile ; 
Salt 'em well, en smear some butter on the juicy 

cobs ez sweet 
Ez the lips of maple-sugar thet yer sweetheart has 

to eat ! 
Talk about ole Mount Olympus en the stuff them 

roosters spread 
On theyr tables when they feasted, — nectar drink, 

ambrosia bread ! 
Why, I tell ye, fellers, never would I swop the grub 

I swipe 
When the roas'in'-ears is plenty en the worter-mil- 

lons ripe ! 

Near the sugar-camps of glory is the worter-millon 

patch, 
Like a great big nest of goodies thet is jist a-gone 

to hatch ; 



"TKflben tbe TRoas'in'sBars is plenty." 191 

En ye take yer thumb en finger in an ecstasy so 

drunk 
Thet ye hardly hear the music of theyr dreamy 

plunky-plunk ! 
En the griefs air gone ferever, en the sorrers lose 

control 
Ez ye feed the angel in ye on the honeys of a soul, 
En ye smack yer lips with laughter while the birds 

of heaven pipe, — 
When the roas'in'-ears is plenty en the worter-mil- 

lons ripe ! 

O, the darlin' days of summer when the stars of 

plenty shine 
With the apples in the orchard en the grapes upon 

the vine ; 
When the hedges bud en blossom, en the medders 

rich en rare 
Breathe the perfume of the clovers like an incense 

everywhayre ! 
En the world seems like yer mother, with the tender 

hands thet bless 
All the restless race of struggle with a heaped-up 

happiness, 
En her han'kerchiefs of gladness from yer eyes the 

weepin's wipe, 
When the roas'in'-ears is plenty en the worter-mil- 

lons ripe ! 



PUT 'ER THAYRE FER NINETY DAYS ! 

"\ 1 7"ULL, ole Jim ! of all the strays ! 
* * Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 
Glad to see ye ! Whayre ye been 
Sence ye last come rollin' in ? 
How 's yer fokes ? en leetle Jim, — 
Whut about the gals en him ? 
Tell me all in quickes' phrase, — 
Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 

Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 
How it warms my heart to raise 
To yer face my happy eyes 
En to hear yer kind replies ! 
It 's put near a life-time sence 
You en me saw them events 
Thet return through cloud en haze, — 
Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 

Put 'er thayre fer ninety days, 
While upon yer face I gaze ! 
Not changed much sence we wuz boys 
Thinkin' mischief most of joys ; 
Older some en sobered some 
By the jolty roads ye 've come, 
192 



" pilfer Cbasre fer miners Dags!" 193 

But yer tender naytcher stays, — 
Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 



Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 
Yes, life is a tangled maze, 
Full of sorrers en of songs, 
Cryin's, laffin's, rights, en wrongs ; 
But from fountains of distress 
Bubble streams of happiness, 
En the stars in darkness blaze, — 
Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 

Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 
Whut ye sayin' ? Joy betrays,— 
Fam'bly dead ? En leetle Jim ? 
Gals en mother dead with him ! 
O, my own heart, pardner, knows 
Somepin of the deepes' woes ! 
Yit fer all its grief, life pays, — 
Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 

Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 
Let yer hand be one thet stays ; 
Pitch yer tent en camp with me 
All the years thet yit shall be ! 
Love shall heal yer heart, en bring 
Music fer us both to sing, 
En our tears '11 roll in praise, — 
Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 



194 Songs trom tbe Soutbwest Country. 

Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! 
Wisdom wreathes us with her bays, 
En around our lives entwine 
Lessons thet air shore devine ! 
En we '11 live, — yes, live, — en love 
Tell the Father up above 
Grabs our hands in his, en says, 
" Put 'er thayre fer ninety days ! " 



AT FWEDDIE'S. 

[" LIKE Fweddie mighty well ! 

Fweddie 's got a dog what plays 
Hide en seek, en he can tell 

Whare you go to, funniest ways ! 
He ist puts his paws up thare 

'Crost his eyes en shets 'em tight, 
Tell he comes en hunts you whare 

You are hided out of sight ! 

He can play ball, too, en fetch 

What you say fer him to bring, — 
Jump into the pond, en ketch 

Sticks en hats en ever'thing ! 
Gits 'em in his mouth en takes 

Races 'round a time er two, 
En he barks, en shakes en shakes 

Dirty worter over you ! 



at tfwe&Dte's. 195 

Fweddie's pony 's Tiddle-wink ; 

Littlust one you ever see ! 
Cuter 'n Curly, too, I think, — 

Only 'bout as high as me ! 
Me en him got on en rode, — 

Bofe togever ist like one, — 
Didunt make much of a load, 

En wuz ist the mostest fun ! 



Fweddie hit 'im wiv a stick, 

Right thare by the worter-trough, 
En the pony tried to kick 

Up his heels en throw us off ! 
Then he run en run, tell we 

Got purshed off by that big limb, — 
Fweddie said 'at some time he 

'D ride the meanness out of him ! 



I like Fweddie, — yes, I do, 

Mighty well, en Fweddie he 
En his dog en pony, too, 

Thinks a orful sight of me ; 
En when all of us git out 

Havin' fun en bein' glad, 
We ist know a heap about 

Goodest times boys ever had 



196 Songs from tbe Southwest country. 

L'ENVOI. 

T HAVE sung you a song 
A Whether worthy or not, 
Whether righteous or wrong ; 
I have sung you a song 
Whether little or long ; 

Though it soon be forgot, 
I have sung you a song 

Whether worthy or not ! 



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